is always watching me," said Kate, dully.

"Yas 'm. I done tried to warn you. Hit were de letter. Ef you jes'
hadn't 'a' sent de letter!"

"My husband saw that?"

"Yas 'm. I don gib it to him."

Kate recoiled, staring at her. "You! You gave it?" she whispered. "You
whom I have trusted! My own servant!"

The mulatto woman's expression was a queer mixture of malice, and
triumph, and pity.

"I was his servant first," said Mahaly.

* * * * *

Several months later, news came of the death of Mrs. Benoix in the
mountains.

But it found Kate oddly indifferent. She was lingering, then, upon a
certain dark threshold which she would have crossed very gladly but for
voices that held her back; the prattle of a child, the thin, helpless
whimper of a baby. She had just given birth to her third daughter.

Basil Kildare did not trouble himself to inspect his new property.
Servants brought him word of its sex and its soundness.

"Good gad, another female?" he cried; and went off down the hill at a
gallop.

Kate heard him go, and retreated a step from the dark threshold.

There was peace in the room.

Presently it seemed to her as if some one were near, a dear familiar
presence she had learned to associate with that threshold; a strength to
lean her weakness on; a hand gripping hers; eyes that held her with
their tenderness, would not let her go.

By a great effort she raised her lids. The vision held. A voice said
steadily: "Quiet, Kate. Remember your baby."

But she had no thought of excitement. It seemed too natural to have him
there. "I knew--you would come--if you could--" she whispered.

He knelt beside her. She drew his head down to her breast, just above
where the baby lay. So they stayed a while without speaking.

There was some sort of commotion downstairs; a cry, instantly hushed.
The old doctor entered the room in haste, and paused, staring. After a
moment he went out softly, clearing his throat. A mulatto-girl,
curiously gray of face, was mounting fierce guard over the door, and
would allow no others to enter.

Then came a sound of trampling feet in the road, as of men bearing some
heavy burden.

Benoix began to speak, in a low and rapid whisper: "Whatever comes now,
you will remember how I have loved you. From the very first, when I saw
you riding to me--There is for every man one woman, only we are fools
and do not wait. Wherever I am, my love shall reach you. They ca