And no word filtered through to the dim room... and all the clues
withdrew in darkness.

Out in the garden Alcibiades and Miss Stone worked among the flowers. It
was part of the cure--that they should work there among growing things
every day--close to the earth--and his voice sounded happily as they
worked.

The woman in the closed room turned her head uneasily. She listened a
moment. Then she called.... Marie stood in the doorway.

"Who is _there_--Marie--in the garden?"

The maid stole to the window and peered through the shutters. She came
back to the bed. "It's a boy," she said, "a Greek boy--and Miss Stone."

"Why is he here?" asked the woman, querulously.

The maid paused--discreet. She knew--everyone except the woman lying
with closed eyes--knew why the boy was here.... She bent and adjusted
the pillow, smoothing it. "He is someone Mr. Harris sent down," she
said, "someone to get well."

There was no reply. The woman lay quiet. "I want to get up, Marie," she
said at last. "It is stifling here."

"Yes, Madame."

The windows were opened a little--the light came in slowly, and
Mrs. Philip Harris stepped at last into the loggia that led from her