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Astounded and horrified, the major, with Isabella Dallas clinging to his arm, stood staring at the empty bed. The candles were still burning, but Jaggard had fallen from his chair and was lying, a huddled heap, upon the floor. The one window of the room was wide open, and the wind--now blowing freely--was shaking a loose shutter to and fro. The shock of the discovery was so terrific that Jen for once in his life lost his presence of mind. He was recalled to his senses by the wild voice of Isabella.,

"Is it?" exclaimed Patricia, equally startled. "I didn't know it was. Mr. Spicer said it himself yesterday when he was talking to me in the print room, and I was telling him about your poor basket and saving bank, and all that. I'm awfully sorry, Miss Jinny.",

"Just look at that mournful creature." Patricia motioned with her eyebrows to the opposite side of the room, where a large, stout young woman in somber cloak and wide-plumed hat was eating her way through a chocolate éclair with just such an air of tragic and settled melancholy as one sometimes sees in a child whose grief is momentarily its most cherished possession.,

A curtain interposed between the head of the patient and the light of the window. This Jen drew aside, and lightly removed the outside wrappings of the wound. The housemaid looked on in horror, for she did not dare to prevent her master from meddling, yet she felt sure that he was doing wrong. But Jen was bent on making the discovery as to whom the handkerchief belonged; and in a few minutes he had the outside bandages removed, and saw the handkerchief discolored with dry blood lying over the wound. With deft fingers he lightly touched the four corners. In one of them were the initials "M. D."

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"Isabella, do not be rude!" cried Mrs. Dallas, who had overheard this passage at arms; whereupon the girl, with a defiant glance at her tormentor, left the room.,

"Perfectly true," assented Isabella. "I love Maurice. I wish to marry him." And slipping her arm within that of her lover, she prepared to face the storm.,

"I'll sing 'Mary of Argyle' first, and then a new little song, but it won't sound very well without any accompaniment," she said simply, and then, folding her hands before her and tilting her head like a bird, she began to sing, softly at first and then louder till her voice soared and rang echoing through the bare, empty rooms that flanked the lunch rooms.,

"Why, Molly, you know me better than that!" she exclaimed from behind a perfect rose cloud of blushes.