torture of remorse on his behalf. A shattering throb of her heart gave
her sight of herself as well. For so it is with the woman who loves in
subjection, she may be a critic of the man, she is his accomplice.'

'You have a letter, Victor?'

'Confirmation all round: Fenellan, Themison, and now Skepsey.'

He told her the tale of Skepsey and Jarniman, colouring it, as any
interested animated conduit necessarily will. Neither of them smiled.

The effort to think soberly exhausted and rolled her back on credulity.

It might not be to-day or next week or month: but so much testimony
pointed to a day within the horizon, surely!

She bowed her head to heaven for forgiveness. The murderous hope stood
up, stood out in forms and pictures. There was one of a woman at her
ease at last in the reception of guests; contrasting with an ironic
haunting figure of the woman of queenly air and stature under a finger of
scorn for a bold-faced impostor. Nataly's lips twitched at the
remembrance of quaint whimpers of complaint to the Fates, for directing
that a large instead of a rather diminutive woman should be the social
offender fearing exposure. Majesty in the criminal's dock, is a
confounding spectacle. To the bosom of the majestic creature, all her
glorious attributes have become the executioner's implements. She must
for her soul's health believe that a day of release and exoneration
approaches.

'Barmby!--if my dear girl would like him best,' Victor said, in tenderest