whom God had brought such a retribution as He alone can bestow. Lindy,
faithful servant to the end, held the wasted hands of her mistress
against the violence they would have done. Lindy held them, her own
body rocking with grief, her lips murmuring endearments, prayers,
supplications.

"Miss Sally, honey, doan you know Lindy? Gawd'll let you git well,
Miss Sally, Gawd'll let you git well, honey, ter see Marse Nick--ter
see--Marse--Nick--"

The words died on Lindy's lips, the ravings of the frenzied woman
ceased. The yellowed hands fell limply to the sheet, the shrunken form
stiffened. The eyes of the mother looked upon the son, and in them at
first was the terror of one who sees the infinite. Then they softened
until they became again the only feature that was left of Sarah Temple.
Now, as she looked at him who was her pride, her honor, for one sight
of whom she had prayed,--ay, and even blasphemed,--her eyes were all
tenderness. Then she spoke.

"Harry," she said softly, "be good to me, dear. You are all I have now."

She spoke of Harry Riddle!

But the long years of penance had not been in vain. Nick had forgiven
her. We saw him kneeling at the bedside, we saw him with her hand in
his, and Helene was drawing me gently out of the room and closing the
door behind her. She did not look at me, nor I at her.

We stood for a moment close together, and suddenly the cries in the
street brought us back from the drama in the low-ceiled, reeking room we
had left.

"Ici! Ici! Voici le cheval!"

There was a loud rapping at the outer door, and a voice demanding
admittance in Spanish in the name of his Excellency the Governor.

"Open it," said Helene. There was neither excitement in her voice, nor
yet resignation. In those two words was told the philosophy of her life.

I opened the door. There, on the step, was an officer, perspiring,
uniformed and plumed, and behind him a crowd of eager faces, white and
black, that seemed to fill the street. He took a step into the room, his
hand on the hilt of his sword, and poured out at me a torrent of Spanish
of which I understood nothing. All at once his eye fell upon Helene, who
was standing behind me, and he stopped in the middle of his speech and
pulled off his hat and bowed profoundly.

"Madame la Vicomtesse!" he stammered. I was no little surprised that she
should be so well known.

"You will please to speak French, Monsieur," she said; "this gentleman
does not understand