The Bell in the Fog and Other Stories

athered, as before, at the upper end of the parlor and gossiped freely. "Miss Williams ought to have put the blond wig on her," said Mrs. Holt. "I am sure that is what

n for a good slice. Who is

d amused glances. Words were supe

kith nor kin; but I, for one, am going to make sure of some memento of the famous Webster estate." An

your humor," said Mrs. Meeker. Then all bent t

ht tenderly of the dead, but she was frankly eager to learn just what position in the world her old friend's legacy would give her. Two or three times she had been

, "but I can get the income, or borrow; and I can live

er a sudden twist and threw it to her. She caught it and ran up-stairs to her room and locked the door. For a moment she turned faint. Then she shook the paper violently apart. She had not far to search

ISS MARIA

ER VAST FORT

THE PRICE OF

LEG

ewspaper in her hand. After a time she spread it out on the floor and spelled through the dancing characters in the long column. Her name was not

me?" For a time she did not think of Strowbridge. When she did, it was to see him smiling into the eyes of Elinor Holt. Her delusion fell from her in that hour of terrible realities. Had she read of his engagement in the newspaper

hank heaven, I had that one little dre

ed. The lights were out, the house was still. She limped over to the room which had been Miss Webster's. That too was dark. She lighted the lamps and flooded the room with soft pink light. She let down her hair, and with the old lady's long scissors cut a thick fringe. The hair fell softly, but the parting of years was obtrusive. A bott

e knot. Then she flung off her black frock, selected a magnificent white satin dinner-gown from the wardrobe, and put it on. The square neck was filled with l

soft pink light, were the tintings of na

her finger against the glass, spoke deliberately; there was no passion in her tones: "When that letter came twenty-five years ago offering me a home, I wish I had flouted it, although I did not have five dollars in the world. I wish I had become a harlot-a harlot! do you hear? Nothing-nothing in life can be as bad as life empty, wasted, emotionless, stagnant! I have existed forty-three years in

be. She unhooked a frock of nun's veiling and tore out the back breadths. She returned to the mirr

me silently. Her eyes had the blank look of introspect

was able to assure itself comfortably

gedy it kn