It was in the middle of a bright, sunshiny afternoon when they returned.  When Lance brought his wife into the drawing-room he seemed very anxious over her.

“Frances does not seem well,” he said to me.  “Ring the bell, John, and order some hot tea; she is as cold as death.”

Her eyes met mine, and in them I read the question—­“What are you going to do?” I was struck by her dreadful pallor.

“Is your head bad again today?” I asked.

“Yes, it aches very much,” she replied.

The hot tea came, and it seemed to revive her; but after a few minutes the dreadful shivering came over her again.  She stood up.

“Lance,” she said, “I will go to my room, and you must lead me; my head aches so that I am blind.”

She left her pretty drawing-room, never to re-enter it.  The next day at noon Lance came to me with a sad face.

“John, my wife is very ill, and I have just heard bad news.”

“What is it, Lance?” I asked.

“Why, that the girl she went yesterday to see, Rose Winter, is ill with the most malignant type of small-pox.”

I looked at him in horror.

“Do you think,” I gasped, “that the—­that Mrs. Fleming has caught it?”

“I am quite sure,” he replied.  “I have just sent for the doctor, and have telegraphed to the hospital for two nurses.  And my old friend,” he added, “I am afraid it is going to be a bad case.”

It was a bad case.  I never left him while the suspense lasted; but it was soon over.  She suffered intensely, for the disease was of the most virulent type.  It was soon over.  Lance came to me one afternoon, and I read the verdict in his face.

“She will die,” he said, hoarsely.  “They cannot save her,” and the day after that he came to me again with wistful eyes.

“John,” he said, slowly, “my wife is dying, and she wants to see you.  Will you see her?”

“Most certainly,” I replied.

She smiled when she saw me, and beckoned me to her.  Ah, poor soul! her judgment had indeed been taken from me.  She whispered to me: 

“Promise me that you will never tell him.  I am dying! he need never know now.  Will you promise me?”

I promised, and she died!  I have kept my promise—­Lance Fleming knows nothing of what I have told you.

Only Heaven knows how far she sinned or was sinned against.  I never see the sunset, or hear the waves come rolling in, without thinking of the tragedy on the pier.

THE END.

[Transcriber’s Note:  Several typographical errors from the original edition have been corrected.

white, slivery foam has been changed to white, silvery foam.

an entensive park has been changed to an extensive park.

the magnificent retriver has been changed to the magnificent retriever.