m frantically that Lisa might soon be put
off of the earth. Just as the Catholic used to pray before he
massacred the Huguenot, or the Protestant, when he tied his Catholic
brother to the stake. If this woman was mad for blood, it was a
madness that many sincere people have shared.

Colette was busy with her mistress for a long time. She was very
gentle and tender, being fond of Lisa, as people of her class always
were. She raised her voice as she made ready to leave the room.

"If the pain returns, here is the powder of morphia, mixed, within
madame's reach," she said.

Frances came close to the door.

"And if it continues?" asked Lisa.

"Let monsieur call me. I would not trust him to measure a powder,"
Colette said, laughing. "It is too dangerous. He is not used to
it--like me."

Mrs. Waldeaux saw her lay a paper package on a shelf.

"I will pray that the pain will not return," the girl said. "But if it
does, let monsieur knock at my door. Here is the tisane when you are
thirsty." She placed a goblet of milky liquid near the bed.

What more she said Frances did not hear.

It was to be! There was the morphia, and yonder the night drink within
her reach. It was God's will.

Colette turned out the lamp, hesitated, and sat down by the fire.
Presently she rose softly, bent over her mistress, and, finding her
asleep, left the room noiselessly. Her door closed far down the
corridor.

Mrs. Waldeaux was quite alone, now.

It was but a step across the hall. So easy to do--easy. It must be
done at once.

But her feet were like lead, she could not move; her tongue lay icy
cold in her mouth. Her soul was willing, but her body rebelled.

What folly was this? It was the work of a moment. George would be
free. She would have freed him.

In God's name then----

She crossed the hall softly. Into the hell of her thoughts flashed a
little womanish shame, that she, Frances Waldeaux, should be walking on
tiptoe, like a thief.

She took down the package, and leaning over the table at the side of
the bed, shook the white powder into the glass. Then she went back to
her room and shut the door.

The casement was open and the moonlight was white outside. She was
conscious that the glare hurt her eyes, and that there was a strange
stricture about her jaws and the base of her brain, like an iron hand.

It seemed to her but a minute that she stood there, but the dawn was
breaking when there was a sud