the man herself to be jealous of his past.
And she was glad that he had not told Don Teodoro of his love for
herself.

The rest all grew to distinctness and to the coincidence of the fact
with the warning. She was brave enough to face danger as well as a man,
but there was no reason why she should stay where she was, waiting to be
murdered. She had a right to save herself without despising herself as a
coward. She therefore said nothing to stop Elettra in her preparations,
and the maid silently went on with her work in the other room.

She still felt ill and terribly shaken, but she rose softly, to try her
strength, and she found that after the first moment's dizziness she
could stand and walk alone. She looked at her hands, and she thought
that they had shrunk and were thinner than ever. Then she lay down again
and called Elettra, and bade her prepare her own belongings and then
come and dress her, when she should have finished.

"Yes, Excellency."

That was almost all that the woman had said, since she had boiled the
eggs for her mistress's luncheon, and Veronica herself did not speak
except to give an order about some detail of the packing. It would have
been impossible to talk of what had happened without speaking clearly
about Matilde, and Veronica did not wish to do that, though Elettra was
of her own people and devotedly attached to her.

Elettra had been careful that no one in the household should learn her
mistress's intention of leaving the palace. Veronica intended to go away
in a cab, and it would be the question of a moment only to call one.
When all was ready, Elettra went out for that purpose herself, and
Veronica went without hesitation to Matilde's room. When she entered,
the countess was alone, propped with pillows on a low couch near the
fire. Her large white hands lay listlessly upon the dark shawl that was
drawn over her, and she had thrown a piece of thick black lace over her
head. It was nearly four o'clock, and the light was already waning, so
that, as she lay with her back to the window, Veronica could hardly see
her face. She raised her head slowly and wearily as the young girl
entered, and then started visibly, as she recognized her.

"It is I," said Veronica, when she had closed the door.

She came and stood beside the couch on which her aunt lay, and she
looked down at the reclining woman. Matilde's listless hands suddenly
clasped each other.

"Yes," she answered, with an effort. "A