aded
gown of rose-colored silk, with pointed bodice and old-fashioned
puff-sleeves. She spread this on the bed and laid with it a pair of
yellowed satin slippers and a little straw basket that held a spray of
what had once been cape jessamine.

In the flickering light she undressed and rearranged her hair,
catching its silvery curling meshes in a low soft coil. Looking almost
furtively about her, she put on the rose-colored gown, and pinned the
withered flower-spray on its breast. She lighted more candles--in
the wall-brackets and on the dressing-table--and the reading-lamp on
the desk. Standing before her mirror then, she gazed long at the
reflection--the poor faded rose-tint against the pale ivory of her
slender neck, and the white hair. A little quiver ran over her lips.

"'Whatever the fact,'" she whispered, "'... you and no other, as long as
I live.'"

She unlocked the bureau-drawer then, took out the letter, and seating
herself by the table, read the remainder:

"I write this in the old library and Bristow holds my horse by
the porch. He will give you this letter when I am gone.

"Last night we were dancing--all of us--at the ball. I can
scarcely believe it was less than twelve hours ago! The
calendar on my desk has a motto for each leaf. To-day's is
this: 'Every man carries his fate on a riband about his neck.'
Last night I would have smiled at that, perhaps; to-day I say
to myself, 'It's true--it's true!' Two little hours ago I could
have sworn that whatever happened to me, Sassoon would suffer
no harm.

"Judith, I could not avoid the meeting. You will know the
circumstances, and will see that it was forced upon me. But
though we met on the field, I kept my promise. _Sassoon did not
fall by my hand._"

She had begun to tremble so that the paper shook in her hands, and from
her breast, shattered by her quick breathing, the brown jessamine petals
dusted down in her lap. It was some moments before she could calm
herself sufficiently to read on.

"He fired at the signal and the shot went wide. I threw my
pistol on the ground. Then--whether maddened by my refusal to
fire, I can not tell--he turned his weapon all at once and shot
himself through the breast. It was over in an instant. The
seconds did not guess--do not even now, for it happened but an
hour ago. As the code decrees, their backs were turned when