And almost he seemed right, for, as the minutes wore on, a brighter colour rose to Helen's cheeks, and the marvellous charm she knows so well how to use held us fascinated. She waged a war of jests with the Judge and fell back into her old caressing ways with Miss Baker. Ethel could scarcely contain her happiness, and even Milly showed signs of melting. I brought Helen away as early as I could--as soon as we had completed plans for a quiet wedding next Wednesday. "I hope you're proud of her, Ezra," declared Mrs. Baker as we took leave; "she told you she's refused a title? But there! All foreigners break their wives' hearts--Nelly's a sensible girl! You didn't expect, though, to find New York crazy over her?" "Oh, I don't know; Helen 'Lizy's ma was a hansome girl; Sis here had ought to be satisfied if she wears a half as well." "Come again thoon to thing to Joy," lisped the baby; "Joy loveth you tho muth." Helen buried her face in the yellow curls, and when she turned away her eyes were wet. I stayed at the studio only long enough to beg Kitty to see that her charge rests. Just as we were parting at the door, Helen turned full on me her great, lambent eyes. "Do you love me?" she asked suddenly. "Why, I loved you," I replied, "when you were a little freckled Nelly in pigtails." And that, at least, is true! God help me to be kind to the most beautiful woman in the world! CHAPTER III. "P. P. C." June 21, 19--. Helen and I were to have been married just a year ago. To-day I have been going over her own story of her life--of her meeting with Darmstetter, of the blight he cast upon her, of her growth in loveliness, her brief fluttering in the sunshine, her failure, her supping with sorrow, her death. I must bring to a close the record of this miracle. This who was the most extraordinary woman that ever lived, was also little Nellie Winship. Again as I remember her as she was--a thing of such vital force that no man could be unmoved in her presence, of such supernal loveliness that words can never tell of it--again I feel that I must be in an ugly dream. But this bit of paper, blotted with tears and stained with wine and ashes, tells me that there was no mistake. She had seemed in high spirits that Sunday at the Bakers', though she was tired when we returned to the studio. Mr. Winship and I made no stop. Pros. and Cadge were enjoying their brief honeymoon trip and so Kitty and Helen were left together. Monday morning I went first to the rooms I had taken; Kitty was to be there later, arranging our little furniture. She was to live with us for a time and care for Nelly. But when I reached the office, there lay on my desk a telegram. "Helen is ill; come," it read. Cadge met me at the studio door, white-faced, strangely, silently gentle. From a tumbled heap among the cushions of the tepee came a voice like Kitty's, moaning. Cadge tried to speak, but could only point to the little bedroom.