Year: 1873

She had turned away from him, and
buried her face in her hands.


Victor Buchanan's face was very pale,
as he presently said:


"Surely, Letitia, you have not for
gotten how Florence on her dying
bed


She interrupted him in tremulous
tones at this point, revealing her face
again, which looked agitated and pain
wrung. Criticised as mere skillful act
ing, her behavior certainly deserves
praise.


"You have forgotten nothing about
Florence. You will never forget. Oh,
no, Victor; I cannot believe that you
love me as wish to be loved until I re-
ceive this proof of it..


"You mean that L must let you wear


yes


The monosyllable was pleadingly
spoken, as with a childish, impulsive
gesture she placed both hands upon his
arm, and let the dark glory of her ques-
tioning eyes fall upon his face.
He met the look with one that was
restless, anxious, uneasy-the sort of
glance by which a man says, with all the
distinctness of spoken words: "Do not
implore me, or 1 must yield!'
Consent, Victor-please consent. I
only ask the favor of you for this single
time. Afterward, I will return the brace
let to the cabinet, and let it remain
there as long as you choose. Consider,
it will be like sealing our love with a
new and beautiful seal p


She could scarcely disguise the smile
of feminine triumph that rose to her
lips, when, after a moment of hesitation,
he murmured:


You know, Letitia, that can refuse
you nothing. Get the bracelet, since
you are bent upon wearing it.


Leaving an eagerly-given kiss upon
the lips, she hurried up stairs as fast
as her voluminous draperies would per-
NIT


pering in her ears. s'He loves you as
though Florence had never been. He is
all your own while life lasts and even
in heaven, after this proof of his devo-
ton, Florence will hardly dare to claim
him p


Meanwhile Victor passed into his
dressing-room, and began pacing the
floor with impatient steps. He was act
ing faithlessly, treacherously, to the
dead. He was insulting poor Florence's
memory. He had even dealt his own
self-respect an almost mortal blow. And
yet


At this point his meditatations were
sharply broken by the sound as of some
falling body on the floor directly above
his chamber. He paused in the center
of the floor, and turned white, as a
strange presentiment of unknown evil
flashed ightning-hke through his mind.


An instant later he was standing at the
foot of the staircase, up which his wife
had hurried, and was calling, "Letitia
Letitia p in somewhat unsteady tones.


No answer. Rapidly, and impelled by
now growing sense of alarm, he as
cended the steps.


A quick passage through the brilliant
ly lighted upper hall brought him to the
door of the room into which he knew
that his wife had recently entered.


A low cry left his lips as he beheld the
form of Letitia, prone in front of a mas
sive, old-fashioned cabinet, one of whose
drawers was wide open.


"Letitia, for Gods sake, what has
happened?" He was kneeling at her side
now, and had placed one of her hands
between both of his own. But while in
the act of doing this, something had
dropped with faint sound from his
wife's effortless fingers. It was the opal
bracelet. A second cry, far louder than
bling hands he raised the beautiful fallen
head, and saw upon one of its pearly
blue-veined temples deep purple mark,
as of some heavy blow. Then he felt
for her heart, and presently knew that
it had ceased to beat.


Had the dead Florence dealt ven
geance from beyond her grave?


Victor Buchanan believes so to this
day, though friend after friend had tried
to persuade him of the folly of so be-
ieving, and pointed to one of the sharp
oaken abutments, at the foot of the cab
met, saying that his wife, in returning to
close the cabinet drawer, had tripped
and struck her head in falling.


He will not believe this explanation.
His friends call him monomaniac.
Does he deserve the name?