even then he avoided looking at her, and seemed
engrossed in conversation with his gay partner. Once Irene looked up
steadily, and as she noted the expression with which he regarded his
companion she wondered no longer at the rumour she had heard, and
acknowledged to herself that they were, indeed, a handsome couple.

The dance ended; Irene declined to dance again. She looked about for Dr.
Arnold, but he had disappeared; her father was deep in a game of euchre;
and as she crossed the hall she was surprised to see Philip leaning against
the door-facing, and peering curiously into the parlours.

"Philip, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, Miss Irene! I have been hunting for you ever so long. Mrs. Davis is
dying, and Susan sent me after you. I went to your house two hours ago, and
they said you were here. Will you come, ma'am!"

"Of course. Philip, find Andrew and the carriage, and I will meet you at
the side door in five minutes."

She went to the dressing-room, asked for pencil and paper, and wrote a few
lines, which she directed the servant to hand immediately to her
father--found her shawl, and stole down to the side door. She saw the dim
outline of a form sitting on the step, in the shadow of clustering vines,
and asked--

"Is that you, Philip? I am ready."

The figure rose, came forward into the light, hat in hand, and both started
visibly.

"Pardon me, Mr. Aubrey. I mistook you in the darkness for another."

Here Philip ran up the steps.

"Miss Irene, Andrew says he can't get to the side gate for the carriages.
He is at the front entrance."

"Can I assist you, Miss Huntingdon?"

"I thank you; no."

"May I ask if you are ill?"

"Not in the least--but I am suddenly called away."

She passed him, and accompanied Philip to the carriage. A few minutes'
rapid driving brought them to the Row, and, directing Andrew to return and
wait for her father, Irene entered the low small chamber, where a human
soul was pluming itself for its final flight home. The dying woman knew her
even then in the fierce throes of dissolution, and the sunken eyes beamed
as she bent over the pillow.

"God bless you! I knew you would come. My children--what will become of
them? Will you take care of them? Tell me quick."

"Put your mind at rest, Mrs. Davis. I will see that your children are well
cared for in every respect."

"Promise me!" gasped the poor sufferer, clutching the jewelled arm.

"I do promise you most solemnly that