"But surely you have been ill?" I said.

She tapped her foot. It was the first symptom of nervous impatience

that I had observed in her.

"Not in body," she replied curtly. "Tell me all about the funeral."

And I gave her an account of the impressive incidents of the

interment--the stately procession, the grandiose ritual, the symbols

of public grief. She displayed a strange, morbid curiosity as to it

all.

And then suddenly she rose up from her chair, and I rose also, and she

demanded, as it were pushed by some secret force to the limit of her

endurance: "You loved him, didn't you, Mr. Foster?"

It was not an English phrase; no Englishwoman would have used it.

"I was tremendously fond of him," I answered. "I should never have

thought that I could have grown so fond of any one in such a short

time. He wasn't merely fine as an artist; he was so fine as a man."

She nodded.

"You understood him? You knew all about him? He talked to you openly,

didn't he?"

"Yes," I said. "He used to tell me all kinds of things."

"Then explain to me," she cried out, and I saw that tears brimmed in

her eyes, "why did he die when I came?"

"It was a coincidence," I said lamely.

Seizing my hands, she actually fell on her knees before me, flashing

into my eyes all the loveliness of her pallid, upturned face.

"It was not a coincidence!" she passionately sobbed. "Why can't you be

frank with me, and tell me how it is that I have killed him? He said

long ago--do you not remember?--that I was fatal to him. He was

getting better--you yourself said so--till I came, and then he died."

What could I reply? The girl was uttering the thoughts which had

haunted me for days.

I tried to smile a reassurance, and raising her as gently as I could,

I led her back to her chair. It was on my part a feeble performance.

"You are suffering from a nervous crisis," I said, "and I must

prescribe for you. My first prescription is that we do not talk about

Alresca's death."

I endeavored to be perfectly matter-of-fact in tone, and gradually she

grew calmer.

"I have not slept since that night," she murmured wearily. "Then you

will not tell me?"

"What have I to tell you, except that you are ill? Stop a moment. I

have an item of news, after all. Poor Alresca has made me his heir."

"That was like his kind heart."

"Yes, indeed. But I can't imagine why he did it!"

"It was just gratitude," said she.

"A rare kind of gratitude," I replied.

"Is no reason given in the will?"




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