"He broke my heart," she said faintly once. "It was the money he wanted, not me; but I loved him. And there was no child--I was alone!" Suddenly her eyes flashed. "I hope," she said clearly, "we shall never meet! I forgive him--it's all over--but eternity is big enough... There's room for both." ... Another time, "Remember," she gasped, "no black for me! Don't suit you. Dismal stuff. _Let_ 'em talk!" and again, with a reminiscent chuckle: "Rudest woman in London. That was me, and here I lie! Well! Well! it did me one good turn. When I was crippled they kept their distance... No fussing and sympathising. Didn't want 'em. Only you--" Grizel stroked her hand, and she slept again. It was an awesome thing to watch the grey face, changing moment by moment into a mask of clay. The hard, bitter-tongued woman had come to the end of her journey, and was going out into the great unknown. Life had brought her perhaps the hardest of all fates, great wealth, and little love. The girl kneeling by her side knew that she was the only person on earth who would honestly regret her loss, and the knowledge brought with it the first tear. She sent out her whole heart in a passion of love and gratitude, as if thereby she could lighten the last struggle of life. As the shackles of earth were loosened, the spirit so soon to be freed from the fleshly prison must surely be sensitive to the ministrations of a kindred soul. Grizel poured forth the wealth of her love, and even as she gazed beheld an answering peace on the dying face. The eyes remained closed, but the fingers stirred within her own with a caressing touch. "Good--child," breathed the faint voice. "Good--child!" An hour later Grizel awoke the sleeping nurse and informed her of her patient's death some ten minutes before. The nurse rose hurriedly, shocked and discomfited in her professional pride. Why was she not called? "She did not want you. We preferred to be alone," said Grizel calmly. She was perfectly composed, and there were no tear marks on her pallid face. The nurse looked at her and wondered instinctively why people called Miss Dundas a beauty. She fastened her dressing-gown, and made the inevitable attempt at comfort. "You must be exhausted. Let me make you a cup of tea!" "Please do," returned Grizel heartily. "I adore stray teas!" Most unfeeling! the nurse decided, but then, what could one expect? A most disagreeable old woman, and such a fortune to inherit! She sighed, stifling a pang of envy.