icture of her as she
appeared at that moment dwelt in Martin's mind, and brought with it a
startled recognition of his sister's charm, then in a flash, she
stiffened; the softness passed from the eyes, and was replaced by a
chilly scorn. This was a love scene upon which she had intruded,--
Grizel flushed, protesting, Martin flushed, appealing, and her own name
"Katrine" bandied upon his lip--no doubt to be waved aside, as an
obstacle blocking the way.

It was in a voice icily bereft of expression that she delivered her
message:

"I have just taken a message for you, Grizel. They have rung up to say
that Lady Griselda is worse. You are wanted at home at once."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Lady Griselda Dundas lay a-dying on her great oak bed. For two long
weeks after Grizel's summons home she had lingered on, until now her
aquiline features were attenuated to a knife-like sharpness, and every
particle of flesh seemed to have departed from the skeleton form, but
the eyes were alive, conscious, yet with a puzzled wistfulness in their
glance. Her brain had cleared, as often happens immediately before the
great change; the present was clear, but over the past the cloud still
hung.

"I--can't remember!" she reiterated feebly. "It's all blank. What have
I been doing these last weeks, Grizel? Where have I been?"

Grizel knelt by the bedside, her warm hands clasped over the icy
fingers. She wore a soft white dressing-gown, and her hair hung in a
long plait down her back. She had been sleeping on a sofa at the end of
the room, but now it was two o'clock, and there was a look in the old
woman's face which made her determine to keep close at hand.
Nevertheless there was no sorrow in her face; the smile with which she
spoke was as usual, sweet and unperturbed.

"You have been here, Buddy; in this house; in these rooms, and I've been
with you, except for a few days. Everything has gone on just the
same..."

"Ha!" exclaimed Lady Griselda loudly. Her eyes flashed with a flicker
of the old fire. "And a fine old fool I've been making of myself, no
doubt! Senile decay! I hoped at least I should be spared _that_. I
can't remember.--It is like a mist. Have I been ill?"

"Weak, darling, and tired. You've been up most days. A month ago you
had a drive. Only two days ago you were taken worse."

"And now," said the old woman calmly, "I'm dying. Pretty soon too, I
should say, for there's not much feeling left. Don't l