It was silent as night; she was too high to view the street; but a sign hanging from one of the houses opposite, she caught sight of, the image of a peacock in full splendor and the sun glittered on that in vivid blue and green. Then gradually the sky faded into a soft violet and the great clouds closed over the sun. Delia left the window and taking her cloak from the wall, put it on with steady hands; then she dragged a small box from the corner into the light and opened it. From the many little articles it contained, she selected a plain ring that had belonged to Perseus, a leathern purse of money and a gilt button that had once belonged to her father’s uniform. These things she placed carefully within her pocket, then taking pen and paper from the box, she sat down and wrote across it: Even had there been no other motive to take me away, I could never have stayed to be a burden on your charity. I set out to do the one thing that maketh life worth the holding. Do not regret or pity me and God keep ye always for the comfort ye have been to me. She folded this and addressed it to Jerome Caryl, her eyes lifted to the fast-darkening sky; her lips were resolutely set. With a steady step she turned from the room and down the narrow stairs. Calling the woman of the house, she gave her money and the letter for Caryl. “He will come to-morrow,” she said. “Do not fail to remember to give him that.” The woman began to whimper. “Woe is me for the Good cause!” she cried dismally. “Will there be a to-morrow for any of us?” “Ye are all safe,” answered Delia steadily, “I do not fly for fear—farewell.” She turned abruptly into the quiet street and turned toward the country. CHAPTER XXIII JAMES FITZJAMES As Jerome Caryl turned up the stairs of the Duke of Berwick’s lodging, he was greeted by a hubbub of noise, above which rose the prolonged giggle of a man and the interchange of women’s voices. Jerome opened the door without ceremony and stepped in. The center of the room was occupied by a long table, surrounded by a varied company, who laughed, talked, and sang with little regard for each other; at the head of the table sprawled a very tall young man in a soiled blue satin suit and torn cravat; his wig hung on the knob of his chair, his fair hair fell untidily over his blond face; his was the good-humored, high-pitched giggle that rose above all other sounds.