.

"Did you go to Naples?"

"Only as fat as Rome."

"How can any one be in Italy, and not go to Naples?" said Madeline, in
a low tone of wonder.

Silence came again. Cecily listened to the sound of breathing. Madeline
coughed, and seemed to make a fruit less effort to speak; then she
commanded her voice.

"I took a dislike to you at Naples," she said, with the simple
directness of one who no longer understands why every thought should
not be expressed. "It began when you showed that you didn't care for
Mr. Marsh's drawings. It is strange to think of that now. You know I
was engaged to Mr. Marsh?"

"Yes."

"He used to write me letters; I mean, since _this_. But it is a long
time since the last came. No doubt he is married now. It would have
been better if he had told me, and not just ceased to write. I want
Zillah to write to him for me; but she doesn't like to."

"Why do you think he is married?" Cecily asked.

"Isn't it natural? I'm not so foolish as to wish to prevent him. It's
nothing to me now. I should even be glad to hear of it. He ought to
marry some good-natured, ordinary kind of girl, who has money. Of
course you were right about his drawings; he was no artist, really. But
I had a liking for him."

Cecily wondered whether it would be wise or unwise to tell what she
knew. The balance seemed in favour of holding her peace. In a few
minutes, Madeline moaned a little.

"You are in pain?"

"That's nothing; pain, pain--I find it hard to understand that life is
anything but pain. I can't live much longer, that's the one comfort.
Death doesn't mean pain, but the end of it. Yesterday I felt myself
sinking, sinking, and I said, 'Now this is the end,' and I could have
cried with joy. But Zillah gave me something, and I came back. That's
cruelty, you know. They ought to help us to die instead of keeping us
alive in pain. If doctors had any sense they would help us to die;
there are so many simple ways. You see the little bottle with the blue
label; look round; the little bottle with the measure near it. If only
it had been left within my reach! They call it poison when you take too
much of it; but poison means sleep and rest and the end of pain."

Cecily listened as though some one spoke from beyond the grave; that
strange voice made all the world unreal.

"Do you believe in a life after this?" asked Madeline, with earnestness.

"I know nothing," was the answer.

"Neither do I. It matters nothing to m