quickly and lifted the heavy drapery. No--the loggia was untenanted, and
breakfast was laid for one! That was the first chill--for one! Was she
angry at his drowsiness? Good God! what could it mean? He staggered a
little, and sat on the bed, clutching the fine sheet. And as he did so it
disclosed the letter and the flat leather case, which had fallen from the
pillow and become hidden in the clothes.

A deadly faintness came over Paul. For a few seconds he trembled so his
shaking fingers refused to hold the paper. Then with a mighty effort he
mastered himself, and tearing the envelope open began to read.

It was a wonderful letter. The last passionate cry of her great loving
heart. It passed in review their glorious days in burning words--from the
first moment of their meeting. And then, towards the end, "My Paul," she
wrote, "that first night you were my caprice, and afterwards my love, but
now you are my life, and for this I must leave you, to save that life,
sweet lover. Seek me not, heart of my heart. Believe me, I would not go if
there were any other way. Fate is too strong for us, and I must bow my
head. Were I to remain even another hour, all Dmitry's watching could not
keep you safe. Darling, while I thought they menaced me alone, it only
angered me, but now I know that you would pay the penalty, I can but go. If
you follow me, it will mean death for us both. Oh! Paul, I implore you, by
our great love, go into safety as soon as you can. You must leave Venice,
and return straight to England, and your home. Darling--beloved--lover--if
we never meet again in this sad world let this thought stay with you
always, that I love you--heart and mind--body and soul--I am utterly and
forever YOURS."

As he read the last words the room became dark for Paul, and he fell back
like a log on the bed, the paper fluttering to the floor from his nerveless