to review the situation. They obeyed like well-bred children,
settling down on a cushioned seat together and taking their coffee as
prettily as a pair of parakeets. They seemed almost children to me,
although there was little difference in years between Vere and myself.
But then, I stood on the brink where years stopped.

With the next night, my triumphant enemy could be put off no longer.
That I could not doubt. I cannot say that I was unafraid, yet fear
weighed less upon me than a heavy sense of solemnity and realization of
the few hours left during which I could affect the affairs of life. What
remained to be done?

On one of my visits to New York, I had called on my lawyer and made my
will. There were a few pensioners for whom provision should continue
after my death. The aged music master under whom I developed such
abilities as I had, who was crippled now by rheumatism and otherwise
dependent on a hard-faced son-in-law; the three small daughters of a
dead friend, an actor, whose care and education at a famous school of
classic dancing I had promised him to finance--a few such obligations
had been provided for, and the rest was for Phillida.

But now, what of Desire Michell?

She had seemed so apart from common existence that I never had thought
of her possible needs any more than of the needs of a bird that darted
in and out of my windows. Until tonight, when I had seen her and she had
proved herself all woman by her appeal to Ethan Vere. It was not a
spirit or a seeress or "ye foule witch, Desire Michell" who had fled to
him for help in rescuing me. It was simply a terrified girl. What was to
become of this girl? Under what circumstances did she dwell? Had she a
home, or did she need one? Could I care for this matter while I was
here?

Day was so far advanced that a clamor of birds came in to us along with
a freshening air. The strangely persistent fog had not lifted, but the
lamps already looked wan and faded in the new light. I switched them out
before speaking to the pair who watched me.

"I have a story to tell you both," I said. "The beginning of it Phillida
has already heard. Perhaps----Have you told Vere about the woman who
visited this room, the first night I spent in the house? Who cut her
hair and left the braid in my hand to escape from me?"

"Yes," she nodded, wide-eyed.

"Will you go to my chiffonier, there in the alcove, and bring a package
wrapped in white silk from the top drawer?"

She