es. Troubles, darling?"

"You shall pull them out," he answered, drawing her little hand to his
lips.

"There, go away," she said quickly, snatching it from him and moving
from her chair as he rose. She rested her elbow on the mantel-shelf,
and the candles from the silver candelabra shone on her face; it looked
strained and weary. Kemp's brows gathered in a frown as he saw it.

"I am going this minute," he said; "and I wish you to go to bed at once.
Don't think of anything but sleep. Promise me you will go to bed as soon
as I leave."

"Very well."

"Good-night, sweetheart," he said, kissing her softly, "and dream happy
dreams." He stooped again to kiss her hands, and moved toward the door.

"Herbert!" His hand was on the portiere, and he turned in alarm at her
strange call.

"What is it?" he asked, taking a step toward her.

"Nothing. Don't--don't come back, I say. I just wished to see your face.
I shall write to you. Good-night."

And the curtain fell behind him.

As he passed down the gravel walk, a hack drew up and stopped in front
of the house. Louis Arnold sprang out. The two men came face to face.

Arnold recognized the doctor immediately and drew back. When Kemp saw
who it was, he bowed and passed on. Arnold did likewise, but he went in
where the other went out.

It was late, after midnight. He had just arrived on a delayed southern
train. He knew the family had come home that morning. Dr. Kemp was
rather early in making a visit; it had also taken him long to make it.

Louis put his key in the latch and opened the door. It was very quiet;
he supposed every one had retired. He flung his hat and overcoat on a
chair and walked toward the staircase. As he passed the drawing-room,
a stream of light came from beneath the portiere. He hesitated in
surprise, everything was so quiet. Probably the last one had forgotten
to put out the lights. He stepped noiselessly up and entered the room.
His footfall made no sound on the soft carpet as he moved about putting
out the lights. He walked to the mantel to blow out the candles, but
stopped, dumfounded, within a foot of it. The thing that disturbed him
was the motionless white figure of his cousin. It might have been a
marble statue, so lifeless she seemed, though her face was hidden in her
hands.

For a moment Arnold was terrified; but the feeling was immediately
succeeded by one of exquisite pain. He was a man not slow to conjecture;
by some intuition he und