"Let me be called at seven to-morrow morning, and let me have a cab at the door to Hyde Park Gardens at eight." And so she went to bed; but scarcely to sleep.

All night long she had the scenes of those old times, the happy, happy days of her youth, the one terrible night that cut all happiness short, present before her.

She could almost have fancied that she heard the long-silent sounds of her father's step, her father's way of breathing, the rustle of his newspaper as he hastily turned it over, coming through the lapse of years; the silence of the night.

She knew that she had the little writing-case of her girlhood with her, in her box.

The treasures of the dead that it contained, the morsel of dainty sewing, the little sister's golden curl, the half-finished letter to Mr.Corbet, were all there.