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Patricia watched, flying up the stairs two steps at a time, and she turned to Elinor, with her hand on the door. Elinor sat down in surprise. "Oh, but I can't," she protested. "I can't sing at all. Miss Pat——" "Impossible! For what reason?".

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"Well," said he cautiously, "I looked out at the night when the hour was twelve, and--" The hours dragged heavily along in that house of mourning. The body of the dead man lay in the little chamber which looked out upon the laurel-encircled lawn. It was covered with a white sheet, the hands were folded upon the breast, and flowers had been laid thereon by the major. Over the face a handkerchief had been thrown, as the once handsome features were so discolored as to be absolutely repulsive to the sight. There was something terrible in the rigidity of the long form, stretched out so stiffly under the sheet. In the chamber candles were burning, and Jaggard was watching near the corpse. He was to watch throughout the night. "He was awfully nice," said Patricia enthusiastically. "Architects are so much better scrubbed than art students. He has lovely hair, too. He's tremendously fond of Miriam Halden, did you notice?" "Indeed! And am I ever to learn the reason of your extraordinary behavior?".