police did not acquaint Sir Charles, Lord Ronsdale or any one with their
purpose, thinking not to alarm us needlessly beforehand. And--I believe
that is all."

A moment the woman waited. "I--shall I--"

The girl looked before her; tiny flames from the grate heightened the
sheen on her gown; they threw passing lights on the somewhat tired,
proud face. "I shall not need you, Dobson," she said. "You may go. A
moment." The woman, who had half-turned, waited; Jocelyn's glance had
lowered to the fire; in its reflection her slim, delicate fingers were
rosy. She unclasped them, smoothed the brocade absently with one hand.
"One or two are leaving early to-morrow. You will see--you will give
instructions that everything is provided for their comfort."

The maid responded and left the room; Jocelyn stood as if wrapped in
reverie. At length she stirred suddenly and extinguishing all but one
dim light, sank back into a chair. Her eyes half closed, then shut
entirely. One might have thought her sleeping, except that her breathing
was not deep enough; the golden head remained motionless against the
soft pink of the dressing-gown; the hand that dropped limply from the
white wrist over the arm of the chair did not stir. Around, all was
stillness; time passed; then a faint shout from somewhere in the
gardens, far off, aroused her. The girl looked around; but immediately
silence again reigned; she got up.

Leaning against the shaft holding one of the marbles, she regarded
without seeing a chaste, youthful Canova, and beyond, painted on boards
and set against satin, a Botticelli face, spiritual, sphinx-like. Her
brows were slightly drawn; she breathed deeply now, as if there were