"One fine day," said Wee Winnie, "or rather, one day that began fine, a merry party made an excursion into the country. Sybil Hotspur and her _fiancé_, Guy Fledgely, (and of course the baronet) were of the party. After picknicking on the grass, the party broke up into twos till tea-time. The baronet was good enough to pair off with an unattached young lady, and so Sybil and Guy were free to wander away into a copse. The sun was very hot, and the young man had not spared the fizz. First he took off his coat, to be cooler, then with an afterthought he converted it into a pillow and went to sleep. Meantime Sybil, under the protection of her parasol, steadily perused one of Addiper's early works, chaster in style than in substance, and sneering in exquisitely chiselled epigrams at the weaknesses of his sex. Sybil stole an involuntary glance at Guy--sleeping so peacefully like a babe in the wood, with the squirrels peeping at him trustfully. She felt that Addiper was a jaundiced cynic--that her Guy at least would be faithful unto death. At that instant she saw a folded sheet of paper on the ground near Guy's shoulder. It might have slipped from the inner pocket of the coat on which his head was resting, but if it had she could not put it back without disturbing his slumbers. Besides, it might not belong to him at all. She picked up the paper, opened it, and turned pale as death. This is what she read. "Manager of _Daily Hurrygraph_. Please insert enclosed series, in order named, on alternate days, commencing to-day week. Postal order enclosed." "'1. Dearest, dearest, dearest. Remember the grotto.--POPSY. "'2. Dearest, dearest, dearest. This is worse than silence. Sobs are cheap to-day.--POPSY. "'3. Dearest, dearest, dearest. Only Anastasia and the dog. Thought I should have died. Cruel heart, hope on. The white band of hope! Watchman, what of the night? Shall we say 11.15 from Paddington since the sea will not give up its dead? I have drained the dregs. The rest is silence. Answer to-morrow or I shall dree my weird.--POPSY.' "There was no signature to the letter, but the writing was that which had hitherto borne to poor Sybil the daily assurances of her lover's devotion. She looked at the sleeping traitor so savagely that he moved uncomfortably, even in his sleep. Like a serpent that scrap of paper had entered into her Eden, and she put it in her bosom that it might sting her. Unnoticed, the shadows had been lengthening, the sky had grown gray, as if in harmony with her blighted hopes. Roughly she roused the sleeper, and hastily they wended their way back to the rendezvous, to find tea just over and the rush to the station just beginning. There was no time to talk till they were seated face to face in the railway carriage. The party had just caught the train, and bundling in anyhow had become separated. Sybil and Guy were alone again. "Then Sybil plucked from her breast the serpent and held it up. "'Guy,' she said. 'What is this?'