``No need to worry; she will be all
right in the morning,'' said Sanders,
and he and the violinist buttoned their
coats tightly about them, for the night
was bitter cold, and together they left
the house.

In her bed-chamber Mildred stood
looking at the portrait of her lover. She
studied his face long and intently, then
crossing the room she mechanically took
a volume from the shelf, and as she
opened it her eyes fell on these lines:

``How art thou fallen from Heaven,
O Lucifer, son of the Morning!''

***

Old Sanders builded better than he knew.



XI

When Diotti and old Sanders left
the house they walked rapidly
down Fifth Avenue. It was after eleven,
and the streets were bare of pedestrians,