sign of forgiveness to tell me that you
retract those last bitter words of hate--to let me feel that in this
final moment we part in peace."

At his pleading a look of agony dawned in the woman's failing eyes--a
look so pitiful in its yearning and despair that the strong man broke
down and sobbed from sorrow and contrition; but the sign he had begged
for was not given.

"Oh, Anna! pray show me, in some way, that you will not die hating
me," he pleaded. "Forgive--oh, forgive!"

At those last words those almost palsied fingers closed convulsively
over his; the look of agony in those dusky orbs was superseded by one
of adoration and tenderness; a faint expression of something like
peace crept into the tense lines about the drawn mouth, and the
repentant watcher knew that she would not go out into the great
unknown bearing in her heart a relentless hatred against him.

That effort was the last flicker of the expiring flame, for the white
lids drooped over the dark eyes; the cold fingers relaxed their hold,
and Gerald Goddard knew the end had almost come.

He touched the bell, and the physician instantly re-entered the room.

"It is almost over," he remarked, as he went to the bedside, and his
practiced fingers sought her pulse.

Even as he spoke her breast heaved once--then again, and all was
still.

Who shall describe the misery that surged over Gerald Goddard's soul
as he looked upon the still form and realized that the grandly
beautiful woman, who for twenty years had reigned over his home, was
no more--that never again would he hear her voice, either in words of
fond adoration or in passionate anger; never see her again, arrayed in
the costly apparel and gleaming jewels which she so loved, mingling
with the gay people of the world, or graciously entertaining guests in
her own house?

He felt almost like a murderer; for, in spite of Dr. Hunt's verdict
that she had died of "sudden heart failure," he feared that the proud
woman had been so crushed by what she had overheard in Isabel
Stewart's apartments that she had voluntarily ended her life.

It was only a dim suspicion--a vague impression, for there was not the
slightest evidence of anything of the kind, and he would never dare to
give voice to it to any human being; nevertheless, it pressed heavily
upon his soul with a sense of guilt that was almost intolerable.

A message was immediately sent flying over the wires to New York to
inform Emil Correlli of