When Maurice Galbraith called at the Palazzo Fortunio early on the morning after he had seen Millicent, to inquire how she had passed the night, he found the porter's room empty. He rang at the door of the apartment, which was opened, after some delay, by a weeping woman. He could not understand what she said to him, and made his way to the boudoir where he had last seen Millicent, without meeting any one. He heard voices in the next room, which he knew to be her sleeping apartment.
"It must have been quite painless," he heard a strange voice say in English. "See! she has not moved; the clothes are quite unruffled. It is doubtful if she woke at all. Sister Theresa says she was in this attitude when she last saw her. If she had even breathed heavily the nun would have heard her, she sleeps so lightly."
A chill fell upon the young man's heart. What could those strange words mean? The door opened at last, and two men entered the room, the younger carefully closing it behind him. He was evidently a physician. The elder man passed him with bowed head and clasped hands. Galbraith touched the younger man on the arm, and asked him what his words had meant. The doctor waited till the father had left the room, and, turning to the stranger, answered him gently and compassionately; told him the little there was to tell beyond the great fact that Death had entered in the night and stolen the breath of the fairest, while she slept.
"If I could but fall quietly asleep!" he remembered her words of yester eve. Her prayer had been answered. The grim visage of Death had been hidden by the tender veil of sleep.
The physician was very patient with the stranger who asked him so often if it were certain, if there could be no mistake regarding the dreadful event. At last, when he was satisfied that there was no hope, he turned to go, stumbling over a chair as he went. The doctor made him take a glass of wine, and bade him rest awhile before going out. Maurice Galbraith was a strong man, and after the first faintness which the news had brought him, he nerved himself to meet the terrible grief, and bear it as a strong man should.
"You are Mr. Galbraith, from California, of whom she spoke last night?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps you could help me in a little matter which Mr. Almsford has asked me to attend to. This telegram came an hour ago. It was directed to her, and is dated California. Do you know the sender, and the meaning of the message?"
Galbraith took the slip of blue paper, and read these words:--
"I am coming to you. I start to-night.