"That is very kind of you, Mrs. Xerxes," smiled Madge. [Illustration: "THAT IS VERY KIND OF YOU."] "I 'oped you would take it that way, miss. It's where I was charing to-day. The young ladies are doin' up their rooms, and they asked me if I could recommend a respectable young person for upholstery. So I put in a word for you, thinking that every little helps." "Indeed, it does, Mrs. Xerxes. Where is the house? And when am I to go?" "To-morrow, at nine. Here's the address." Mrs. Xerxes extricated a scrap of dirty paper from her pocket, and handed it to Madge. Then she went hobbling downstairs again. A little later, a man who had groped his way up the narrow stairs stopped on the third-floor landing, gasping for breath. Madge was singing--her chatelaine jingling, not unmusically, for accompaniment--as she moved about her room. It was a sweet song, sweet with hope and promise:-- Sing high. Tho' the red sun dip There is yet a day for me; Nor youth I count for a ship That was long ago lost at sea. But the words fell with pathetic irony on Paul Vespan's ears, that must shortly be deaf to the sound of all human voices. Did the lost love die and depart? Many times since have we met; For I hold the years in my heart, And all that was is yet. That verse was not for him. The light-hearted singer, no doubt, had had her love-passages, but she had evidently outlived them. He had no such memories to console or to detain him. He had lived solitary and misunderstood. He must die alone. Who would be sorry for him? Not this heartless singer, certainly. Poor Madge, who had been troubled, even in her singing, for her poet! Paul turned into his room, and began to grope about for a match. Then he felt in his pockets. They were empty. He was poor, indeed. Fate had not left him so much as a light for his last journey. Nor was this the only delay. Across the landing a sweet voice called him back with tender insistence-- There is yet a day for me! If only he could believe it! He had grown weary waiting for its dawn. The Poet's day is long in coming. Nor youth I count for a ship That was long ago lost at sea! If it might be so! Paul staggered out of his dark room into the darkness beyond, clutching blindly at the air, for he was weak with long fasting. The song broke off. A woman called across the landing:-- "Who is there?" "It is I." "That's a starving man," said Madge to herself, "and it's Mr. Vespan's voice. What do you want?" she asked, opening her door. "A light." [Illustration: "SHE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY."] "Wait a moment. I will bring you one."