Then, under the strained gaze of the four men gathered there, the shroud fell to the floor in a loose heap of white folds. There was nobody under it; no trace of Sanang. The human shape of the Yezidee had disappeared; but a greyish mist had filled the room, wavering up like smoke from the shroud, and, like smoke, blowing in a long streamer toward the window where the draught drew it out through the falling snow and scattered the last shred of it against the greying sky. In the room the mist thinned swiftly; the four men could now see one another. But Tressa was no longer in the room. And in place of the white shroud a piece of filthy tattered carpet lay on the floor. And a dead rat, flattened out, dry and dusty, lay upon it. “For God’s sake,” whispered Recklow hoarsely, “let us get out of this!” Cleves, his pistol clutched convulsively, stared at him in terror. But Recklow took him by the arm and drew him away, muttering that Tressa was waiting for him, and might be ill, and that there was nothing further to expect in this ghastly spot. They went with Cleves to the Ritz. At the desk the clerk said that Mrs. Cleves had the keys and was in her apartment. The three men entered the corridor with him; watched him try the door; saw him open it; lingered a moment after it had closed; heard the key turn. At the sound of the door closing the maid came. “Madame is asleep in her room,” she whispered. “When did she come in?” “More than two hours ago, sir. I have drawn her bath, but when I opened the door a few moments ago, Madame was still asleep.” He nodded; he was trembling when he put off his overcoat and dropped hat and gloves on the carpet. From the little rose and ivory reception room he could see the closed door of his wife’s chamber. And for a while he stood staring at it. Then, slowly, he crossed this room, opened the door; entered. In her bedroom the tinted twilight was like ashes of roses. He went to the bed and looked down at her shadowy face; gazed intently; listened; then, in sudden terror, bent and laid his hand on her heart. It was beating as tranquilly as a child’s; but as she stirred, turned her head, and unclosed her eyes, under his hand her heart leaped like a wild thing caught unawares and the snowy skin glowed with an exquisite and deepening tint as she lifted her arms and clasped them around her husband’s, neck, drawing his quivering face against her own. THE END [1] “Look out!” Nomad-Mongol dialect. [2] Urdu = An imperial encampment. [3] Mocalla = A platform used as a Moslem pulpit.