mice and tied tiny bows
on their necks; she played checkers with him while the supper dishes
waited, and went down to defeat in three hilarious games; and last of
all she played to him, joyous music at first, then slower, drowsier
airs, until his heavy head dropped on his shoulder and she gathered him
up in tender arms and carried him to bed.

It was dawn when Marie arrived. Harmony was sleeping soundly when the
bell rang. Her first thought was that Peter had come back--but Peter
carried a key. The bell rang again, and she slipped on the old kimono
and went to the door.

"Is it Peter?" she called, hand on knob.

"I come from Peter. I have a letter," in German.

"Who is it?"

"You do not know me--Marie Jedlicka. Please let me come in."

Bewildered, Harmony opened the door, and like a gray ghost Marie slipped
by her and into the hall.

There was a gaslight burning very low; Harmony turned it up and faced
her visitor. She recognized her at once--the girl Dr. Stewart had been
with in the coffee-house.

"Something has happened to Peter!"

"No. He is well. He sent this to the Fraulein Wells."

"I am the Fraulein Wells."

Marie held out the letter and staggered. Harmony put her in a chair; she
was bewildered, almost frightened. Crisis of some sort was written on
Marie's face. Harmony felt very young, very incapable. The other girl
refused coffee, would not even go into the salon until Peter's letter
had been read. She was a fugitive, a criminal; the Austrian law is
severe to those that harbor criminals. Let Harmony read:--

"DEAR HARRY,--Will you forgive me for this and spread the wings of your
splendid charity over this poor child? Perhaps I am doing wrong in
sending her to you, but just now it is all I can think of. If she wants
to talk let her talk. It will probably help her. Also feed her, will
you? And if she cannot sleep, give her one of the blue powders I fixed
for Jimmy. I'll be back later to-day if I can make it.

"PETER"

Harmony glanced up from the letter. Marie sat drooping in her chair. Her
eyes were sunken in her head. She had recognized her at once, but any
surprise she may have felt at finding Harmony in Peter's apartment was
sunk in a general apathy, a compound of nervous reaction and fatigue.
During the long hours in the express she had worn herself out with
fright and remorse: there was nothing left now but exhaustion.

Harmony was bewildered, but obedient. She went back to the cold kitche