Whitewash. Ethel Watts Mumford

play, 'The Intruder?' Well, I feel like the blind man, who ​sees Death in the room. I have an actual horror of what seems a physical presence."

      Victoria slipped her feet to the bare floor. "So have I. It's all a nightmare, and, Sonia, think what a contrast. Yesterday we were with the pilgrimage; the songs of praise, peace, good-will to men; faith, hope, charity, lights, music, mystery. Then, suddenly, it's sickness, crime, death! We came to a miracle play, and we have seen a tragedy!"

      There was a silence, during which the square of sunshine crept softly down the room.

      Sonia spoke. "To have robbed that woman, bringing her offerings to St. Anne, seems worse than robbing a church, doesn't it? How shall such a man be punished?"

      "He won't be caught," Victoria answered, with conviction. "He has timed himself so well. He's a man of resource. If we hadn't seen him, he would have been perfectly safe. I bet he carried his stuff away in that leather camera-case. A foreigner with a camera, the most natural thing in the world, supposing he were seen before he could put his booty in a place of safety."

      ​"Did you notice," said Sonia, dreamily, "that the maid's description of the hands didn't fit at all?"

      Her friend nodded. "Yes, there may have been two men. One may have gone down the ladder when you came to the door for me; hardly, though! you would have heard distinctly if there had been more than one. Oh, well, I suppose the woman was too excited to see straight. The beard, of course, may have been false; but they won't find him, anyway."

      "We ought to get up, I suppose. It's after eight. Are you going out to see the procession?"

      The Russian rose as she spoke, and proceeded to make as dainty a toilet as the place permitted. Victoria followed her example languidly. "I suppose we might as well see all there is to be seen, but I have no heart for anything. Where are the girls? I should have thought they would have come for us long ago."

      Sonia wrapped her hair in a shining coil. "No, I told them last night to get up and go out when they pleased, and leave us to sleep late. I ​have no patience with travelling in a party where all feel they must hang together, even if their tastes are varied. If the girls went out early, they probably breakfasted in the tents, and don't know anything yet. I suppose we ought to eat," she added, after a moment.

      "I'm not hungry," the answer came promptly.

      Sonia leaned from the window and called to a passing servant, "Send two déjeuners up, please." Then, withdrawing her head, she smiled. "There are advantages in living over the stable; it ensures better service. We might have spent the whole morning ringing a bell, and been ignored, but bawling out of the window ensures attention."

      Breakfast arrived with surprising promptness, the two girls having developed into important persons in the household. At any other time the curiosity and manœuvring of the servant would have been vastly amusing, now it was only an irritation. They answered awestruck questions with abrupt sharpness, and finally, unable to rid themselves of her queries, took refuge in silence.

      ​"It's nearly time for the procession," Sonia observed, glancing at her watch, as the reluctant waitress disappeared; "we ought to go early if we want to see anything."

      Absently adjusting the old campaign hat on her heavy hair, Victoria picked up her beloved camera. "I'm going to inquire how they are; I'll meet you in the office."

      "Better finish your coffee," Sonia called after her. But the firm tread was already reverberating far down the bare hallway. The Russian pushed back her plate, and rose wearily. Truly life was a strange thing, so strange it dizzied one's brain with its questions of whence and whither. Perhaps even now that little child knew more than she, with all her varied and multiplied experiences. If there be any conscious knowledge on that mysterious other side! She drew her hat over her eyes and stepped out. The passage was cold and chill. She shivered slightly, and quickened her step. Out in the warmth and sunshine once more, her thoughts would be more cheerful, she reflected, as she made her way through the labyrinthine passages. She reached ​the office, filled with chattering visitors by whom the robbery of the night was being discussed from every standpoint. The crowd made way for her, and she reached the doorway, where she leaned, waiting. The square was a seething mass of struggling humanity, swaying, vast, expectant. Men in white, bearing staves, were opening a passage before the great main entrance of the church. A full brass band was massing its forces, ready to herald the opening of the doors. Everywhere people were hurrying, running, calling, scrambling for better positions, or endeavoring to fight their way through the press. All was color, light, animation, expectation, and faith. A soft touch on her arm roused her. She looked up into Victoria's face, set hard and white as two heavy tears slipped slowly down her cheeks.

      For a moment Victoria dared not trust her voice, but swallowed hard, looking straight ahead with fixed eyes.

      "She's dead!" she said, simply. "I have seen her."

      The band crashed forth a strain of triumph, ​the cathedral doors swung wide, and amid the acclaiming of the crowd, surrounded by cardinals and bishops in scarlet and purple, the statue of many miracles, under its canopy of gold, swung glittering into the sunlight.