efore, but resembled the prolonged howl
of a dog, and rose and fell on the air like a cry from some doomed
spirit.

Robert came out of the room which his mother had always occupied, and,
as he passed Salome, she asked,--

"What is the matter? What is the meaning of that horrible noise?"

"Only the greyhound howling at the dead that he knows is lying over
his head. Ah, ma'am! The poor brute sees what we can't see, and his
death-baying is awful."

"Where is he? The sound seems to come through the floor."

"He is so savage that I was afraid he would hurt some of the strangers
who will come here to-day, so I chained him in the basement. Hist,
ma'am! Did you ever hear anything so dreadful? It raises the hair off
my head."

He went down stairs, and the howling, which was caused by the fact
that the dog was hungry and unaccustomed to being chained, ceased as
soon as he was set free. Ere long Robert came back, followed by the
greyhound, whose collar he grasped firmly. At sight of Salome he
growled and plunged towards her, but Robert was on the alert, and held
him down. Leading him to the parlor door, the gardener knocked, and
put his mouth to the key-hole.

"If you please, ma'am, will you let Greyhound in? It won't do to leave
him at large, and when I chain him he almost lifts the roof with his
howls."

No reply reached Salome's strained ears, but the door was opened
sufficiently to admit the dog, who eagerly bounded in, and then the
click of the lock once more barred intrusion; and when the joyful
barking had ceased, all grew silent once more.

From a basket of fresh flowers brought in by the boy who assisted
Robert, Salome selected the white ones and made a wreath, which she
laid aside and sprinkled; then gathering some rose and nutmeg
geranium-leaves, and a few violets blooming in jars that stood on the
gallery, she cautiously glided into the chamber of death, and arranged
them in Elsie's rigid hands.

Soon after, the undertaker and minister arrived, and while they
conferred with Robert concerning the burial service, the girl went
back to her vigil before the parlor door, and endeavored to divert her
thoughts by looking into a volume of poems that lay on the hall table.
The book opened at "Macromicros," where a brilliant verbena was
crushed between the leaves, and delicate undulating pencil-lines
enclosed the passage beginning,--

"O woman, woman, with face so pale!
Pale woman, weaving away
A frustra