ver the piano. It was then that there was
born, out of Camilla Van Arsdale's love and faith and coming abnegation,
her holy and deathless song for the dead, to the noble words of the
"Dominus Illuminatio Mea," which to-day, chanted over the coffins of
thousands, brings comfort and hope to stricken hearts.

"In the hour of death, after this life's whim,
When the heart beats low, and the eyes grow dim,
And pain has exhausted every limb--
The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him."

On the last day she told him that they would not meet again. Life had
given to her all and more than all she had dared ask for. He must go
back to his work in the world, to the high endeavor that was laid upon
him as an obligation of his power, and now of their love. He must write
her; she could not do without that, now; but guardedly, for other eyes
than hers must read his words to her.

"Think what it is going to be to me," she said, "to follow your course;
to be able to pray for you, fighting. I shall take all the papers. And
any which haven't your name in shall be burned at once! How I shall be
jealous even of your public who love and admire you! But you have left
me no room for any other jealousy...."

"I am coming back to you," he said doggedly, at the final moment of
parting. "Sometime, Camilla."

"You will be here always, in the darkness, with me. And I shall love my
blindness because it shuts out anything but you," she said.

Io rode with him to the station. On the way they discussed ways and
means, the household arrangements when Io should have to leave, the
finding of a companion, who should be at once nurse, secretary, and
amanuensis for Royce Melvin's music.

"How she will sing now!" said Io.

As they drew near to the station, she put her hand on his horse's
bridle.

"Did I do wrong to send for you, Cousin Billy?" she asked.

He turned to her a visage transfigured.

"You needn't answer," she said quickly. "I should know, anyway. It's her
happiness I'm thinking of. It can't have been wrong to give so much
happiness, for the rest of her life."

"The rest of her life," he echoed, in a hushed accent of dread.

While Enderby was getting his ticket, Io waited on the front platform. A
small, wiry man came around the corner of the station, glanced at her,
and withdrew. Io had an uneasy notion of having seen him before
somewhere. But where, and when? Certainly the man was not a local
habitant. Had his presence, then, any sig