"No, no. Her Grace simply wondered what had become of you, and since she is not to suffer the slightest worry I sent the servants to look for you. Will you sit with her awhile? She has been resting and now wants to be amused. You may even play a game of backgammon if you promise to lose badly, so there will be no suspense to the play."

"Of course," Marianne said, returning his smile. "I will go in to her at once."

She found the room in semidarkness and at first thought the Duchess had gone to sleep. However, she roused when Marianne tiptoed in. In a dazed, drowsy voice, she said, "I have had the most beautiful dream… At least Horace would call it a dream. David… He smiled at me and held out his hands and called me 'Honor.' He was the only one who ever called me that."

"Dreams can be very real," Marianne said gently. "Would you like to sleep again?"

"It was not a dream. I saw him as plainly as I see you." Marianne did not point out that in the shadowy twilight she must appear insubstantial and ghostly too. The Duchess went on, "I could even make out the furnishings of the room where he was. It was a shabby, homely little place, a bedchamber of some kind. There was rain pouring down the windowpane. Blue hangings on the bed… Or were they gray?" The Duchess sighed. "It is fading now, but it was very real."

A superstitious shiver ran down Marianne's limbs.

"It is cool here," she said. "Shall I put more wood on the fire, and light the lamps? What can I do to amuse you? The doctor says we may play backgammon if you would like."

"What, on Sunday?" The Duchess laughed. "Horace is a frightful old pagan, but I know better. Yes, light the lamps if you will, child. Tea will be coming up shortly."

Marianne poked up the fire and lighted all the lamps she could find. With the curtains drawn the room took on a warm, cheerful look that was much more to her taste.

The Duchess also seemed more cheerful, though she complained, half jokingly, of having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

"It must be the weather. The sound of rain always makes one sleepy. Never mind, a cup of tea will wake me up. Tell me what you have been doing all day."

Marianne gave her a spirited account of the battle of Waterloo and the activities that had preceded it. The Duchess laughed aloud at her description of herself on the velocipede, her knees high, scraping first one wall and then the other as she raced.

"I know I should not have allowed the Duke to play on Sunday," she said apologetically. "But I did want to be friends with him, and he seemed at loose ends -"

"And that wretched Irishman sleeping off his overindulgence," the Duchess broke in. "Don't look so surprised, child; I am not incompetent yet! I began to question his influence over Henry last time I was here, and what I have seen on this visit confirms my feelings that he must be replaced. Don't apologize for breaking the Sabbath. You committed a minor sin in doing an act of kindness, which is much more important. Now tell me… Ah, here is Rose with our tea."

Marianne was happy to see that the tray the maid carried appeared to be heavily laden. She had worked up an appetite playing with Henry.

All at once the maid came to a dead stop, her eyes bulging. The cups and saucers on the tray rattled. Marianne jumped up and seized it as it tilted; she was just in time to prevent the contents from sliding off onto the floor.

She put the tray on a table. "What on earth is the matter. Rose?" she asked.

The maid tried to reply. The muscles of her throat bulged, but no sound came from her parted lips. Her staring eyes were fixed on some object behind Marianne.

Marianne turned, following the gaze, which was almost as explicit as a pointing finger.

The wall between the windows blazed with letters of fire. A large oil lamp on the table below them allowed her to read the message they spelled.

"The time is near. Come to me then."

The maid began to scream. Marianne swayed, not through faintness, but through indecision. She did not know whether to run to the Duchess, or silence the shrieking maid, or summon help, or seize the nearest cloth and wipe out the fiery letters… assuming they could be wiped out by something so ordinary as a cloth.

Before she could decide, the door burst open and Dr. Gruffstone appeared. She had never admired his quickness so much; a sudden bound took him to Rose; he slapped her briskly on the cheek. Her shrieks stopped. Then the doctor turned to his patient.

"It is all right, Horace," the Duchess said calmly. "I am happy. I am at peace."

Indeed she looked quite beautiful. Smiling, flushed, except for her snow-white hair she might have been a young girl.

Gruffstone turned to Marianne.

"Watch that fool woman," he snarled, gesturing at Rose. "She is about to swoon. Get her into the next room, don't let her talk to the others." As she spoke he pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and with one vicious sweeping gesture removed the first line of the glowing inscription. The second followed, just as a rush of footsteps heralded the arrival of Carlton.

"What in heaven's name -"

Rose proved the doctor a true prophet by collapsing into an untidy heap on the floor. Marianne bent over her.

"What -" Carlton began again.

"My smelling salts are in the cabinet," the Duchess said calmly. "Do what you can for her, Horace, and then please join me in a cup of tea."

The hour that followed was one Marianne would never forget. Drinking her tea, the Duchess contributed little; she sat smiling with dreamy detachment while the others argued about what had happened.

Rose had been given a sleeping draft and was snoring on a sofa in the boudoir.

"Though heaven knows it is only postponing the inevitable," the doctor groaned, running his hand through his wildly ruffled hair. "The moment the wretched woman wakes up she will tell every servant in the house what she saw."

"If you had not seen it too, I would think -" Carlton began. He broke off, with a sidelong look at the Duchess.

"There are enough witnesses," the doctor said gloomily.

"Then someone wrote it while the Duchess was asleep," Carlton said. "There was a period of time after you left, Gruffstone, and before Miss Ransom came in."

"I was outside the door the entire time," the doctor said.

"What about the secret passages?" Marianne asked. "The Duke said…" Then she remembered her promise to Henry and could say no more. "However," she went on, "the wall was unmarked when I lighted the lamps. I am sure of that, because one lamp, one of the largest, was on the table just below that section of the paneling."

A long discouraged silence followed, while they stared at one another. Marianne felt slightly sick. She knew the finger of suspicion pointed at her. She could have written the message in phosphorous paint, or some similar chemical, while the Duchess dozed. Only she knew she had not done so.

Finally the Duchess spoke. "You are all behaving very foolishly. There is nothing to be afraid of. Go down to dinner, all of you. I would like to be alone for a while. After you have dined, Roger, will you come up to me? I will not keep you long, I promise."

The dismissal could not be ignored. Carlton rose uncertainly, and Marianne followed suit. The doctor remained seated.

"Honoria," he began.

"Dear old friend." She held out her hand and the doctor took it in his. "I am perfectly well. I only want to think about… matters I have put off too long. You may come and say good night, later."

The doctor raised her hand to his lips. When he turned away Marianne saw his eyes held an unnatural shine, as if they were filled with tears.

Not until she glanced at herself in the mirror in her own room did Marianne realize she was still wearing the dusty, crumpled frock in which she had played with Henry. She dropped wearily into a chair. This latest and most bewildering phenomenon had exhausted her strength. She did not know what to make of it, and she was too tired to think.