hand lay an inlaid box, and the key to it hung on a bracelet she wore on her wrist.
A bell rang, and she sat motionless, hardly moving her eyelids. Stephen . . . Stephen was at her door . . . fate was kind . . . this was her moment of moments, her day of days.
The door opened, and Dawson said in a strange voice:
"Mr. de Lisle, m'lady," and vanished.
And Stephen came to her. . . .
They brushed each other's cheeks lightly, for the first time in their long lives. They moved the two chairs nearer together and sat with clasped hands. Words for a time were beyond them, but at last Stephen spoke.
"You are wonderful," he said, "wonderful, wonderful!"
"But you!" cried Madame Claire. "I was prepared for some one much older, some one bent and feeble . . . you are so straight!"
"As long as the Lord lets me walk at all," he told her, "I hope He'll let me walk upright. And I'm better . . . much better."
"How I have longed for this!" Her voice rang out clearly. "My dear, stubborn, too proud old Stephen!"
"Less stubborn now, but still proud. Claire,
