ld her, she shielded me against myself;
would not let me suffer as I should--she excused me. She, to excuse
me! But if anything happens to me--I want all my money to go to Ann
Walden. By this act she will understand my trust in her and, accepting
it, she will do for Queenie what otherwise she could not do--and do it
more wisely than my darling could for herself. It must be the common
tie, this little fortune.

"I am feeling very ill.

"I fear--my time--has come!

"I recall--there was no marriage certificate, but the service was
performed by----"

Ann Walden dropped the blurred sheet and steadied herself against the
window. Evidently Theodore Starr had forgotten the name, or perhaps
the deadly dizziness of the disease had overcome him. It did not
matter. Ann Walden, like Marcia Lowe, had no doubts--but his sister
evidently had had, and suddenly a bitter hatred filled Ann Walden's
soul toward the dead woman she had never known.

"She who should have known him best," Ann Walden's thoughts ran
burningly on--"she to doubt him and let all the years of injustice go
on!"

And then the eyes of the tormented woman turned fearfully toward the
far side of the room. The late afternoon was turning into twilight and
the corner by the chimney was dim and full of shadow.

"And I--who should have trusted Queenie--I who knew her best of all--I
let her suffer----"

The wraith by the hearth had her full revenge at that hour, for Ann
Walden bowed beneath the memories that crowded upon her; the vivid,
torturing memories. That last night--when the moans and calls of the
dumb mind strove to express the agony of the poor body! The solemn
hour when God entrusted a living soul to a mother incapable of
realizing anything but the mortal pangs that were costing her her life!

The child dishonoured, shamed and hidden because of--misunderstanding.
Humbly Ann Walden confessed that Theodore Starr's sister was no more to
blame than she herself.

Outside a sudden shower had come over Lost Mountain; the room in which
Ann Walden stood became dark and still, then a sharp crash shook the
house--something white fell upon the hearth; ashes, long dead ashes
were blown hither and yon by a rising wind. With a wild cry of--"My
God!" Ann Walden sank in a chair. Wornout nerves could stand no more.

When she recovered consciousness she was lying upon the old horsehair
sofa in the library. Ivy had gone on an errand, but Cynthia stood over
her