She was still smiling when she entered her own apartment again. Carefully laying aside her wraps, she proceeded to set the room in perfect order. Then she brought out a little ebony box, in which she kept many curious souvenirs of her life abroad. In one corner lay a small chamois-skin bag. She opened it, and into a corner of a snowy cambric handkerchief, she shook a portion of its contents--a brilliant, crystallized substance--and then replaced the bag and locked the ebony box away in her cabinet again. Laying the handkerchief on the pillow of her couch, she disrobed, brushed out her beautiful hair, and leaving the gas jet turned low, she crept into her snowy bed. Bringing the handkerchief close to her face, she looked smilingly down on the tiny crystals of the powder, as she murmured, "If only Madame Volkenburg was not mistaken--if only it is swift and sure, as she said! Oh Love, Love! even in death we shall not be parted. She will mourn over your cold clay; but your spirit will be with me, with _me_! You would have lived for her, but I die for you. Ah, God! how much sweeter death is, than life. Oh, my Love, my Love, you shall not take the journey alone! Whatever the great mystery is, we will solve it--together. May Christ receive our spirits." She emptied the powder into her sweetly-parted lips, folded the handkerchief under her cheek, and lay quite still, as if she slept. * * * * * When Lorette came in the morning, she found her lying in the same position, the handkerchief under her cheek, and a sweet, glad smile upon her dead face. The papers, on the following day, reported the sudden death, by heart disease, of beautiful Madame Percy, a young French lady. CHAPTER XXIII. BITTER SWEET. In the afternoon of the next day, Homer Orton presented himself at Percy's apartments, only to be met by Mrs. Griffith, and informed of that young man's critical condition. "He is slightly easier to-day," she said, "but we are instructed to keep him very quiet. There is little hope entertained of his recovery." The journalist stood for a moment silent, shocked, bewildered. Then he spoke: "I wish to consult him upon a matter of the gravest importance. Can you direct me to his most intimate friend or relative, to whom I might impart some very serious information? It is a matter which cannot wait." Mrs. Griffith was impressed with the earnestness of the young man's manner. Reluctantly she stepped into the adjoining study, where Helena's shapely form lay stretched upon a broad lounge. It was the first respite she had taken from her position as watcher. She seemed to be sleeping, and Mrs. Griffith spoke her name softly, unwilling to disturb her. But Helena was not sleeping. Though worn out with fatigue and excitement, the memory of Dolores' face, as it appeared for one brief, terrible second at the door of Percy's apartment, drove slumber from her pillow.