But the door closed heavily—the room was in darkness, or was it her sight failed her? Everything swam before her in a blackening mist; she grasped at the table and fell across it, senseless.

The dawn was breaking, filling the room with a gray and ghostly light; the great curtains looked black and gloomy, and the corners of the room were filled with strange and moving shadows. Through an open window a cool breeze blew across Valentine's sick forehead: she opened her eyes. The empty glass met her gaze, the fallen chair was beside her: she looked at them strangely. She was still alive.

"Gian's poison is slow," she said, and smiled to herself.

After a time she rose and stumbled to the window.

"When the sun rises I shall be dead, or perhaps I shall live till noon," she said to herself.

She mounted the estrade and sat beside the open window, resting her head against the woodwork, singing to herself.

Suddenly the whole gray sky flushed purple: the sun rose above the horizon.

Valentine looked down into the garden, the sight seemed to awaken memories.

"Hush!" She laid her finger on her mouth. "Hush, Conrad—if Gian hears us—hast thou velvet shoes on—hush! He treads warily—ah, but it is no use—he poisoned me! he poisoned me!"

She rocked herself to and fro.