"Poor Albert!" I had almost said, "Poor dear Albert!" when I read that last letter. How much he had developed since the days when we first met. It is wonderful what a power love has, how it ennobles and purifies and sanctifies, and raises, and Albert's love was very unselfish--how utterly unselfish, I was to know before long. But the days went on, and each day seemed a little harder than the last, until I became quite anxious for the complete break to take place when I should have parted with my old friends and my old life for ever. But I knew quite well that even if I did go away, the image of the man I really loved would remain in my heart. As this was likely to be a sin by-and-by--for surely I ought not to marry one man and love another--I must try to fight against all thoughts of Jim, and to banish the one who would not be banished from my thoughts. I have said that the 1st of August came in with tremendous heat; every window in the house was open, the blinds were all down. Jasmine was quite fretful and irritable. She pined for Scotland; she said that she could scarcely contain herself until she got away. She and her husband were to go early the next day to the North, and all arrangements were being made, and the final packing was being completed. The Duchess also was kept in town owing to some special duties, but on the next day she was also to go. She had asked me two or three times to visit her, but I had written to her begging of her not to press it. "I must go through with what I have promised," I said, "and to see you only pains me. Do forgive me. Perhaps you will see me once when I return from Switzerland just to say good-bye." The Duchess had taken no notice of this letter, and I concluded sadly that I was never to see her or hear of her again; but as I was sitting by myself in Jasmine's inner drawing-room on that same 1st of August, about twelve o'clock in the morning, I was startled when the door was thrown open, and the dear Duchess came in. She came up to me, put her arms round me, drew me to her breast, and kissed me several times. She had not, after all, more motherly arms than Mrs. Fanning, but she had a different way about her, and before I knew what I was doing, the feel of those arms, and the warm, consoling touch of her sympathy, caused me to burst out crying. Mrs. Fanning would not have thought much of the calm which in her opinion seems to accompany good breeding had she seen me at that moment. But the Duchess knew exactly what to do. She did not speak until I was quieter, and then she made me lie on the sofa, and took my hand and patted it. "I am thinking of you, Westenra, almost all day long," she said solemnly. "I am terribly concerned about you. Have you got a photograph of that man anywhere near?" "I have not got one," I replied. "He never sent you his photograph? I thought they always did."