ast down, she seemed
to be lost to sense and feeling, except for a perceptible drawing away
from her husband when he took the seat which Yanna had vacated.
Furtively she glanced into his face, and she was aware of, though she
was not sorry for, its utter wretchedness. Indeed, in no way did she
evince the slightest contrition for her offence. Antony, however,
doubted whether she was in a condition to fully realize it. With
soulless eyes, she gazed on the panorama of the streets, and if she
had any just knowledge of sin committed, it lay in some corner of her
conscience, far below the threshold of her present intelligence.

It seemed a never-ending ride to Antony. The familiar streets were
strange to him, and his own house was like a house in a dream. He
fancied the coachman looked curious and evilly intelligent. It was not
that his body burned, his very soul burned with shame and pity and
just anger. He gave Rose his arm, however, up the flight of steps, but
she withdrew herself with a motion of impatience as soon as they
entered the hall, and she was not at all aware of a feeling, an
atmosphere, a sense of something sorrowful and unusual, which struck
Antony as quickly as he passed the threshold. The next moment a door
opened, and the family physician came forward.

Antony looked at him and divined what he was going to say. "She is
worse, doctor?" he whispered.

"She is well, sir. Well, forever!"

Then, with such a cry as could only come from a wounded soul, Antony
fled upstairs. Rose sank into the nearest chair. She had not yet any
clear conception of her misery. But in a moment or two, Antony
returned with his little dead daughter in his arms. He was weeping
like a woman; nay, he was sobbing as men sob who have lost hope.

"Oh, my darling!" he cried. "My little comforter! My lost angel!" and
with every exclamation he kissed the lovely image of Death. Straight
to the trembling, dazed mother he took the clay-cold form, which had
already been dressed for its burial. And when Rose understood the
fact, she was like one awakening from a dream--there was a moment's
stupor, a moment's recollection, a moment's passionate realization of
her loss; and then shriek after shriek, from a mind that suddenly lost
its balance and fell from earth to hell.

Fortunately, the physician was at hand, and for once Antony left Rose
to his care. His sympathy seemed dead. He had borne until his capacity
for suffering was exhausted. He lay