adria persuaded her, for Martha's sake, to
remain. And Hannah, with another burst of tears, gave an assurance which
amounted to a pledge, that she would take a situation with the Father of
Evil himself, rather than desert the blessed child.

"I wonder if Martha realizes at all what is going to happen," said
Hadria sadly, as she stood watching the little girl playing with her
toys. Martha was talking volubly to the blue man. He still clung to a
precarious existence (though he was seriously chipped and faded since
the Paris days), and had as determined a centre of gravity as ever.

"I don't think she understands, ma'am," said Hannah. "I kep' on tellin'
her, and once she cried and said she did not want to go, but she soon
forgot it."

Hadria remained till it was time to dress for dinner. Professor
Fortescue had promised to dine with her and Valeria on this last
evening. Little Martha had been put early to bed, in order that she
might have a long rest before the morrow's journey. The golden curls lay
like strands of silk on the pillow, the bright eyes were closed in
healthful slumber. The child lay, the very image of fresh and pure and
sweet human life, with no thought and no dread of the uncertain future
that loomed before her. Hannah had gone upstairs to pack her own
belongings. The little window was open, as usual, letting the caressing
air wander in, as sweet and fresh as the little body and soul to which
it had ministered from the beginning.

The busy, loud-ticking clock was working on with cheerful unconcern, as
if this were just like every other day whose passing moments it had
registered. The hands were pointing towards seven, and the dinner hour
was half-past seven. Hadria stood looking down at the sleeping child,
her hands resting on the low rail of the cot. There was a desolate look
in her eyes, and something more terrible still, almost beyond
definition. It was like the last white glow of some vast fire that has
been extinguished.

Suddenly--as something that gives way by the run, after a long
resistance--she dropped upon her knees beside the cot with a slight cry,
and broke into a silent storm of sobs, deep and suppressed. The
stillness of the room was unbroken, and one could hear the loud
tick-tack of the little clock telling off the seconds with business-like
exactness.

CHAPTER LVII.

The evening was sultry. Although the windows of the dining-room were
wide open, not a breath of air came in