her uncle and
herself. But should the boy Mirko return at any time to the man Sykypri,
his father, or should she, Zara, from the moneys settled upon herself
give sums to this man Sykypri the transaction between herself and her
uncle regarding the boy's fortune would be null and void. This was the
document's sense.

Zara read it over but the legal terms were difficult for her. "If it
means exactly what we agreed upon, Uncle Francis, I will sign it," she
said, "that is--that Mirko shall be cared for and have plenty of money
for life."

And Francis Markrute replied,

"That is what is meant."

And then she had gone to her room, and spent the night before her
wedding alone. She had steadily read one of her favorite books: she
could not permit herself for a moment to think.

There was a man going to be hanged on the morrow, she had seen in the
papers; and she wondered if, this last night in his cell, the condemned
wretch was numb, or was he feeling at bay, like herself?

Then, at last she opened the window and glanced out on the moon. It was
there above her, over the Park, so she turned out the lights, and,
putting her furs around her, she sat for a while and gazed above the
treetops, while she repeated her prayers.

And Mimo saw her, as he stood in the shadow on the pavement at the other
side of Park Lane. He had come there in his sentimental way, to give her
his blessing, and had been standing looking up for some time. It seemed
to him a good omen for dear Cherisette's happiness, that she should have
opened the window and looked out on the night.

It was quite early--only about half-past ten--and Tristram, after a
banquet with his bachelor friends on the Monday night, had devoted this,
his last evening, to his mother, and had dined quietly with her alone.

He felt extremely moved, and excited, too, when he left. She had talked
to him so tenderly--the proud mother who so seldom unbent. How marriage
was a beautiful but serious thing, and he must love and try to
understand his wife--and then she spoke of her own great love for him,
and her pride in their noble name and descent.

"And I will pray to God that you have strong, beautiful children,
Tristram, so that there may in years to come be no lack of the Tancreds
of Wrayth."

When he got outside in the street the moonlight flooded the road, so he
sent his motor away and decided to walk. He wanted breathing space, he
wanted to think, and he turned down into Curzo