a corner of the room, in which stood an old
packing-case, fitted with a lock. She took it up; and, returning with it
to the sitting-room, softly closed the bedroom door again.

After some hesitation, she decided to open the case. In the terror and
confusion that possessed her, she tried the wrong key. Setting this
mistake right, she disclosed--strangely mingled with the lighter
articles of her own dress--a heap of papers; some of them letters and
bills; some of them faded instructions in writing for the preparation of
artists' colours.

She recoiled from the objects which her own act had disclosed. Why had
she not taken Father Patrizio's advice? If she had only waited another
day; if she had only sorted her husband's papers, before she threw the
things that her trunk was too full to hold into that half-empty case,
what torment might have been spared to her! Her eyes turned mournfully
to the bedroom door. "Oh, my darling, I was in such a hurry to get to
You!"

At last, she controlled herself, and put her hand into the case.
Searching it in one corner, she produced a little tin canister. A dirty
label was pasted on the canister, bearing this quaint inscription in the
Italian language:

"If there is any of the powder we employ in making some of our prettiest
colours, left in here, I request my good wife, or any other trustworthy
person in her place, to put a seal on it, and take it directly to the
manufactory, with the late foreman's best respects. It looks like nice
sugar. Beware of looks--or you may taste poison."

On the point of opening the canister she hesitated. Under some strange
impulse, she did what a child might have done: she shook it, and
listened.

The rustle of the rising and falling powder--renewing her terror--seemed
to exercise some irresistible fascination over her. "The devil's dance,"
she said to herself, with a ghastly smile. "Softly up--and softly
down--and tempting me to take off the cover all the time! Why don't I
get rid of it?"

That question set her thinking of Carmina's guardian.

If Mr. Null was right, in a day or two Mrs. Gallilee might come to the
house. After the lawyers had threatened Teresa with the prospect of
separation from Carmina, she had opened the packing-case, for the first
time since she had left Rome--intending to sort her husband's papers as
a means of relief from her own thoughts. In this way, she had discovered
the canister. The sight of the deadly powder had tempted