chair. The
dawn was abroad, a jubilant spring dawn; the spire had already caught
a golden ray, though the magnolia and horse-chestnut still slumbered in
shadow. In Mrs. Black's yard all was quiet. The charred timbers of the
balcony lay where they had fallen. It was evident that since the fire
the builders had not returned to their work. The magnolia had unfolded a
few more sculptural flowers; the view was undisturbed.

It was hard for Mrs. Manstey to breathe; each moment it grew more
difficult. She tried to make them open the window, but they would not
understand. If she could have tasted the air, sweet with the penetrating
ailanthus savor, it would have eased her; but the view at least was
there--the spire was golden now, the heavens had warmed from pearl to
blue, day was alight from east to west, even the magnolia had caught the
sun.

Mrs. Manstey's head fell back and smiling she died.

That day the building of the extension was resumed.

The End

THE BOLTED DOOR

As first published in Scribner's Magazine, March 1909

I

Hubert Granice, pacing the length of his pleasant lamp-lit library,
paused to compare his watch with the clock on the chimney-piece.

Three minutes to eight.

In exactly three minutes Mr. Peter Ascham, of the eminent legal firm of
Ascham and Pettilow, would have his punctual hand on the door-bell of
the flat. It was a comfort to reflect that Ascham was so punctual--the
suspense was beginning to make his host nervous. And the sound of the
door-bell would be the beginning of the end--after that there'd be no
going back, by God--no going back!

Granice resumed his pacing. Each time he reached the end of the room
opposite the door he caught his reflection in the Florentine mirror
above the fine old walnut credence he had picked up at Dijon--saw
himself spare, quick-moving, carefully brushed and dressed, but
furrowed, gray about the temples, with a stoop which he corrected by
a spasmodic straightening of the shoulders whenever a glass confronted
him: a tired middle-aged man, baffled, beaten, worn out.

As he summed himself up thus for the third or fourth time the door
opened and he turned with a thrill of relief to greet his guest. But it
was only the man-servant who entered, advancing silently over the mossy
surface of the old Turkey rug.

"Mr. Ascham telephones, sir, to say he's unexpectedly detained and can't
be here till eight-thirty."

Granice made a curt gesture of