There was a little silence, broken only by the sound of street traffic faintly heard through the plate-glass windows. Fitz was looking at her, his blue eyes grave and searching. This was not a man to miss his opportunity, this youngest commander on the list. "Eve," he said, "I used to think at D'Erraha that you cared for me." "I have always cared for you," she answered, with a queer little smile, half bold, half shy. So Love came in at the windows as Death crept up the stairs. Before long they heard the doctors go away, but they heeded not. They only forgot each other when Cipriani de Lloseta came into the room. The Spaniard's quick eyes read something in Eve's face. He looked sharply at Fitz, but he said nothing of what he saw. "So our dear lady has been taken from us," he said quietly, with an upward jerk of the head. Fitz nodded. Cipriani de Lloseta walked to the window and quietly drew down the blind. "So falls the curtain," he said, "on the little drama of my humble life." He turned and looked from one to the other with that sudden warmth of love which either of them seemed able to draw from him. "Some day," he said, "I will tell you--you two--the story, but not now." He stepped forward and raised Eve's fingers to his lips. A quaint, half-Spanish grace marked the picture of Southern chivalry. "My child," said Lloseta, "may Heaven always bless you!" And he left them. CHAPTER XI. "MILKSOP". What have we made each other? The cathedral bells were calling good Papists to their morning devotion as the Croonah moved into Valetta harbour. No sooner did her black prow appear between the pier heads than a score of boats left the steps, their rowers gesticulating, quarrelling, laughing among themselves with Maltese vivacity. One boat, flying the Croonah's houseflag, made its way more leisurely through the still, clear water. This boat was bringing mails to the Croonah, and in the letter-bag Mrs. Harrington's last missive to Luke had found its place. This letter had been posted by the well-trained footman while Eve and Fitz stood at Mrs. Harrington's bedside. Before it was stamped at the district office the hand that wrote it was still. And it contained mischief. Even after her death Mrs. Harrington brought trouble to the man whose life she had spoilt by her caprice. The letter ran-- "DEAR LUKE,--Just a line to tell you that you may bring your portmanteau straight up to Grosvenor Gardens when your ship arrives in London. I read of your fortunate escape from the cyclone, and congratulate you. I dare say I shall be having a few friends to stay when you are with me, so you need not fear dulness. Yours affectionately, "MARIAN HARRINGTON.