ty of the dead."

"And I so often thought of writing to you, but did not like to intrude,"
cried Hadria.

"Ah! if you only _had_ written to me!" Miss Du Prel exclaimed.

Hadria gazed incredulously at the familiar scene, as they approached the
back of the house, with its round tower and its confusion of picturesque,
lichen-covered roofs. An irregular circle of stately trees stood as
sentinels round the stronghold.

After all, something did happen, once in a while, in this remote corner
of the universe, whose name, Hadria used to think, had been erased from
the book of Destiny. She was perhaps vaguely disappointed to find that
the author of _Parthenia_ wore ordinary human serge, and a cape cut
after the fashion of any other person's cape. Still, she had no idea
what supersensuous material she could reasonably have demanded of her
heroine (unless it were the mythic "bombazine" that Ernest used to talk
about, in his ignorant efforts to describe female apparel), or what
transcendental form of cape would have satisfied her imagination.

"You have a lovely home," said Valeria Du Prel, "you must be very happy
here."

"Would you be happy here?"

"Well, of course that would depend. I am, I fear, too roving by nature
to care to stay long in one place. Still I envy girls their home-life in
the country; it is so healthy and free."

Hadria, without answering, led her companion round the flank of the
tower, and up to the front door. It was situated in the angle of the
wings, a sheltered nook, hospitably careful of the guest, whom the winds
of the uplands were disposed to treat but roughly.

Hadria and her companion entered a little panelled hall, whence a flight
of broad stairs with stout wooden balusters, of quaint design, led to
the first floor.

The visitor was charmed with the quiet old rooms, especially with
Hadria's bedroom in the tower, whose windows were so deep-set that they
had to be approached through a little tunnel cut out of the thickness of
the wall. The windows looked on to the orchard at the back, and in
front over the hills. Miss Du Prel was taken to see the scene of the
tragedy, and the meeting-room of the Preposterous Society.

"You must see the drawing-room," said Hadria.

She opened a door as she spoke, and ushered her visitor into a large,
finely-proportioned room with three tall windows of stately form,
divided into oblong panes, against which vagrant sprays of ivy were
gently tapping.

This ro