r the last sad services for the dead if she should
hasten.

Mrs. Mencke was out, as usual, and Violet was glad of it, for she knew
that she would oppose and might even flatly forbid her going.

Hastening to her room, she exchanged her elaborate visiting costume for
a simple black cashmere, tore a bright feather from a black hat, drew on
a pair of black gloves, and thirty minutes later was in the street
again.

She hailed the first car that came in sight, and even though she was
obliged to take a second car, she reached Hughes street about twenty
minutes of two.

As she entered the home of the Richardsons she was met by a kind-looking
woman, a neighbor, whom she had seen once or twice during her illness,
and with a quivering lip she begged that she might go into the parlor
herself and take a look at her friend before the people began to gather.

Permission was readily given to her, the woman herself leading the way,
and considerately shutting the door so that she might be by herself, as
she took her last look at the dear friend who had been so kind to her.

Mrs. Richardson must have died suddenly, she thought, for she was not
changed in the least, and lay as if calmly asleep. There was nothing
ghastly or unpleasant about her. A look of peace and rest was on the
sweet face. Her hair had been dressed just as she was in the habit of
wearing it, and a mass of soft lace had been filled into the front of
her dress, while some one had placed a few sprays of mignonette and
lilies of the valley in her still hands.

"Oh, dear Mrs. Richardson, you cannot be dead!" Violet breathed, as she
bent over her with streaming eyes. "It is too, too sad; you were so
kind, and I had learned to love you so dearly. What will Wallace do? How
can he bear it?"

She smoothed her soft hair with her trembling fingers, never thinking of
shrinking from the still, cold form, for it was so life-like. She drew
the lace a little closer about the neck, and arranged the flowers less
stiffly in her hands, murmuring fond words and tender regrets while thus
engaged.

But, after a few moments, overcome with her grief, she seated herself
upon a low ottoman behind the casket, and leaned her head against it,
weeping silently.

She was so absorbed by her sorrow that she did not hear the door as it
was softly opened and closed again, and was not conscious that any one
else was in the room, until she heard a deep, heart-broken sob, and a
familiar voice brea