ed into slumber
as placid as her first cradle sleep. So motionless she lay, bare arms
wound around the pillow, that they could scarcely detect her breathing
save when the bow of pale-blue ribbon stirred on her bosom.

"The darling!" whispered Mrs. Carrick; "look at that brier mark across
her wrist!--our poor little worn-out colleen!"

"She was not too far gone to mention Garret Hamil," observed Cecile.

Mrs. Cardross looked silently at Cecile, then at the girl on the bed who
had called her mother. After a moment she bent with difficulty and
kissed the brier-torn wrist, wondering perhaps whether by chance a
deeper wound lay hidden beneath the lace-veiled, childish breast.

"Little daughter--little daughter!" she murmured close to the small
unheeding ear. Cecile waited, a smile half tender, half amused curving
her parted lips; then she glanced curiously at Mrs. Carrick. But that
young matron, ignoring the enfant terrible, calmly tucked her arm under
her mother's; Cecile, immersed in speculative thought, followed them
from the room; a maid extinguished the lights.

In an hour the Villa Cardross was silent and dark, save that, in the
moonlight which struck through the panes of Malcourt's room, an unquiet
shadow moved from window to window, looking out into the mystery of
night.

* * * * *

The late morning sun flung a golden net across Malcourt's bed; he lay
asleep, dark hair in handsome disorder, dark eyes sealed--too young to
wear that bruised, loose mask so soon with the swollen shadows under lid
and lip. Yet, in his unconscious features there was now a certain
simplicity almost engaging, which awake, he seemed to lack; as though
latent somewhere within him were qualities which chance might germinate
into nobler growth. But chance, alone, is a poor gardener.

Hamil passing the corridor as the valet, carrying a tray, opened
Malcourt's door, glanced in at him; and Malcourt awoke at the same
moment, and sat bolt upright.

"Hello, Hamil!" he nodded sleepily, "come in, old fellow!" And, to the
valet: "No breakfast for me, thank you--except grape-fruit!--unless
you've brought me a cuckootail? Yes? No? Stung! Never mind; just hand me
a cigarette and take away the tray. It's a case of being a very naughty
boy, Hamil. How are you anyway, and what did you shoot?"

Hamil greeted him briefly, but did not seem inclined to enter or
converse.

Malcourt yawned, glanced at the grape-fruit, then