Penelope had gone to her chamber; behind me the dishevelled table stood, bearing the candles and the débris of our last supper; a nosegay of bright flowers--Nick's parting token--lay on the floor, where they had fallen from Penelope's bosom. After a while I left the window and sat down, taking my head between my hands; and I had been sitting so for some time in ugly, sullen mood, when a noise caused me to look up. Penelope stood by the door, her yellow hair about her face and shoulders, and still combing of it while her brown eyes regarded me with an odd intentness. "Your light still blazed from your window," she said. "I had some misgiving that you sat here brooding all alone." I felt my face flush, for it had deeply humiliated me that she should know how I was offered no employment while others had been called or permitted to seek relief from inglorious idleness. She flung the bright banner of her hair over her right shoulder, caressed the thick and shining tresses, and so continued combing, still watching me, her head a little on one side. "All know you to be faithful, diligent and brave," said she. "You should not let it chafe your pride because others are called to duty before you are summoned. Often it chances that Merit paces the ante-chamber while Mediocrity is granted audience. But Opportunity redresses such accidents." "Opportunity," I repeated sneeringly, "--where is she?--for I have not seen or heard of that soft-footed jade who, they say, comes a-knocking once in a life-time; and thereafter knocks at our door no more." "Oh, John Drogue--John Drogue," said she in her strange and wistful way, "you shall hear the clear summons on your door very soon--all too soon for one of us,--for one of us, John Drogue." Her brown eyes were on me, unabashed; by touch she was dividing the yellow masses of her hair into two equal parts. And now she slowly braided each to peg them for the night beneath her ruffled cap. When she had braided and pegged her hair, she took the night-cap from her apron pocket and drew it over her golden head, tying the tabs under her chin. "It is strange," she said with her wistful smile, "that, though the world is ending, we needs must waste in sleep a portion of what time remains to us.... And so I am for bed, John Drogue.... Lest that same tapping-jade come to your door tonight and waken me, also, with her loud knocking." "Why do you say so? Have you news?" "Did I not once foresee a battle in the North? And men in strange uniforms?" "Yes," said I, smiling away the disappointment of a vague and momentary hope. "I think that battle will happen very soon," she said gravely.