e."

"It doesn't matter," said Molly; "no," hurriedly, "let me tell you. I
want to tell you. It will help me. I take things--I have to; anything
that will make me forget and make me sleep. I'm afraid--I take it
because I'm afraid to die."

He looked at her out of dull eyes. She was, self-avowedly, everything
he held abhorrent--alien, worldly, and weak. He stammered
something--was he asking God to help her, or himself?--and left her.

Later, as he and Mr. Jonas drove back to Aden, the eyes of Mr. Jonas
snapped. "You're brewing mischief to your own or somebody else's peace
of mind; you always are when you look like that. Out with it, man."

Why Mr. Henderson should out with it, he himself knew less than any,
but Mr. Jonas had a way.

The minister's words came forth with effort.

"I've been seeking light to know why Mrs. Garnier was sent down here.
I've never cared for a woman before; I can't seem to tear it out. But
to-day it's made clear: she was sent to me to be saved."

"From her faith?" inquired Mr. Jonas.

But the minister was impervious to the sarcasm.

"To the faith," said Mr. Henderson.

The others gone, Alexina, King William and the Captain sat on the
porch. The girl who was on the step reached up and put a hand on the
locket swinging from the Captain's fob. "May I?" she asked, "I used
to, often, you know."

The Captain slipped the watch out and handed it to her, the rest
depending, and she opened the locket, a large, thin, plain gold
affair. "This," she said, bending over it, then looking up at the
Captain archly, "this is Julie Piquet, your mother, wife of Aristide
Leroy, refugee and Girondist."

She recited it like a child proud of knowing its lesson, then regarded
him out of the corners of her eyes, laughing.

There answered the faintest flicker of a smile somewhere in the old
Roman face.

The girl returned to the study of the dark beauty on the ivory again,
its curly tresses fillet bound, its snowy breasts the more revealed
than hidden by the short-waisted, diaphanous drapery.

"And because it had been your father's locket, with you and your
mother in it, Mrs. Leroy wouldn't let you change it to put her in; and
so this on the other side is you, young Georges Gautier Hippolyte
Leroy--"

"Written G. Leroy in general," interpolated the gentleman's son.

"And this is how you looked at twenty, dark and rosy-cheeked, with a
handsome aquiline nose. You never were democratic, for all your grand