*

The old lady was lying quietly in bed, when the girl went up, and put
out a wrinkled hand.

"Well, my dear?" she asked.

"It is just a little weakness, mother. You must lie quiet and do
nothing. Shall I read to you?"

"No, my dear; I will think a little."

It was no part of Mabel's idea to duty to tell her that she was in
danger, for there was no past to set straight, no Judge to be
confronted. Death was an ending, not a beginning. It was a peaceful
Gospel; at least, it became peaceful as soon as the end had come.

So the girl went downstairs once more, with a quiet little ache at her
heart that refused to be still.

What a strange and beautiful thing death was, she told herself--this
resolution of a chord that had hung suspended for thirty, fifty or
seventy years--back again into the stillness of the huge Instrument that
was all in all to itself. Those same notes would be struck again, were
being struck again even now all over the world, though with an infinite
delicacy of difference in the touch; but that particular emotion was
gone: it was foolish to think that it was sounding eternally elsewhere,
for there was no elsewhere. She, too, herself would cease one day, let
her see to it that the tone was pure and lovely.

* * * * *

Mr. Phillips arrived the next morning as usual, just as Mabel had left
the old lady's room, and asked news of her.

"She is a little better, I think," said Mabel. "She must be very quiet
all day."

The secretary bowed and turned aside into Oliver's room, where a heap of
letters lay to be answered.

A couple of hours later, as Mabel went upstairs once more, she met Mr.
Phillips coming down. He looked a little flushed under his sallow skin.

"Mrs. Brand sent for me," he said. "She wished to know whether Mr.
Oliver would be back to-night."

"He will, will he not? You have not heard?"

"Mr. Brand said he would be here for a late dinner. He will reach London
at nineteen."

"And is there any other news?"

He compressed his lips.

"There are rumours," he said. "Mr. Brand wired to me an hour ago."

He seemed moved at something, and Mabel looked at him in astonishment.

"It is not Eastern news?" she asked.

His eyebrows wrinkled a little.

"You must forgive me, Mrs. Brand," he said. "I am not at liberty to say
anything."

She was not offended, for she trusted her husband too well; but she went
on into the sick-room with her heart beating.

The old lady, too, seemed e