rince of Wales, or
the Archbishop of Canterbury. Coroner's Court sits on everybody who
doesn't die in his bed certified by his doctor."

"And it rained, too, last night," said Miss Waddy.

"Yes, there was some heavy showers."

"Fancy the poor gentleman lying out in the rain. Oh, dear!"

Mavis Dale left them talking and went back to the post office. In her
agitation she had forgotten about the reply telegram to her husband.
She got Mr. Ridgett to write the message--her hands were trembling so
that she could scarcely hold the pencil.

"Very sorry, I'm sure," said Mr. Ridgett sympathetically. "This was
the party you told me of--the gentleman that was giving his support to
Mr. Dale?"

"Yes."

"Well, well--very sad. How will you word it?"

"Please say--'Report true. Mr. Barradine killed by fall from his horse
yesterday.' And sign it 'Mavis.' No, sign it 'Mav.'"

"Mav!--Ma-v!" Mr. Ridgett looked round, smiling. "That's hubby's pet
name for you, isn't it? Upon my word, you two _are_ a pair of
love-birds.... There, off it goes. Good night, Mrs. Dale. I'm truly
sorry that you've been deprived of such a friend."

She went up-stairs to her bedroom, and did not come out of it that
evening. For a long time she sat on the bed sobbing and shivering. She
was glad really, and she knew that she was glad, and yet all the blood
in her body seemed to be running coldly because of unreasoning
superstitious fear. It was as though she had seen a ghost, and as
though the ghost, while imparting to her a piece of surprisingly good
news, had at the same time almost frightened her out of her wits. It
is so wicked, so impiously wicked to wish for the death of a fellow
creature. But what are wishes? Common sense revolts from the
supposition that thoughts can kill. Why, if they could, half the
population of the world would succumb beneath the impalpable weapons
wielded by the other half. It is only toward nightfall, when rooms
begin to grow dark, and the deepening shadows give queer shapes to
furniture, curtains, and other familiar objects, that one can be
foolish enough to entertain such fancies.

She told Mary to bring the candles, and to run out and buy a
night-light. Then Mary helped her to undress and to get to bed; and
she slept dreamlessly. The feeling after all was one of unutterable
relief. Mr. Barradine _was_! Never again would her flesh shrink at the
sight of him; never again could those lascivious hands touch her.

Next day,