and Dougal appeared with Ronald, who had asked a night's shelter. Jeannie heard Ronald saying:

"The mountains are delivered, the evil spirits vanquished."

She slipped away to wring out the nets and accomplish her usual duties, then returned by the long wall of the cemetery. Looking across the yews and cypresses toward a corner where a grave had been dug, but was waiting still empty, she saw a shrub called "the Saint's tree," from a legend associated with St. Colomba, and heard the sound of a box breaking, and another sound like the splitting of bark. At the same instant a flash of light ran along the ground and was extinguished on her garments. She instantly followed the still glowing ray. It began at the Saint's tree, and before this stood a gigantic monk in an attitude of imprecation; another man was prostrated in prayer. The first brandished a torch which lit up his grand, pitiless countenance; the other was motionless. She recognized Ronald and Dougal. A voice from the tree was faintly calling her name.

"Trilby!" exclaimed Jeannie. She rushed forward across the mounds, falling headlong into the empty grave, which doubtless awaited her; for no one may cheat destiny. "Jeannie! Jeannie!" cried Dougal.

"Dougal!" answered Jeannie, holding out her trembling hand; and looking from her husband to the shadowy tree, she murmured: "A thousand years are but a moment on earth for those who should never be parted," and, falling back, expired.

Ages have passed since these events. All the old walls have crumbled away; but the stone above Jeannie still stands. Some kindly soul has traced these words upon it:

"A thousand years are but a moment on earth for those who should never be parted."

The Saint's tree is dead, but some vigorous green saplings surround its exhausted trunk with rich foliage, and when a fresh breeze ruffles them, bending and waving their leafy branches, one fancies one hears the sighs of Trilby over Jeannie's grave.

A thousand years are all too short for the possession of what we love all too short, alas! to lament its loss.

MRS. MOWBRAY (aged 30, but looks younger).

MRS. ALLISON (aged 25, rather piquante than pretty).
GERALD QUENTIN (aged 28, a mere man).

Scene: Mrs. Mowbray's drawing-room; the ladies seated on either side of a brilliant fire. Time: The present, at 4 p.m.

Mrs. Mowbray-It's so delightful to have you settled in London again; after all, there's no place like it, is there?

Mrs. Allison (smiling)-Rather a doubtful compliment that, Gwen. Personally, I can't say I find sky-signs and graduated chimney-pots a pleasant change from the blue Mediterranean.

Mrs. Mowbray-Oh, of course, Nice is very lovely; but one rather loses caste if one stays there too long, don't you think?

Mrs. Allison-Can that result be effected in six months? You're making me feel a little uncomfortable.

Mrs. Mowbray (quickly)-How ridiculous you are, Jessie! It was quite different with you; you were an invalid and all that; and after poor Leonard's death, of course

(Bending

Mrs. Allison (hastily)-Please don't talk about that-Mrs. Mowbray (gently)-You poor thing! forward.) It must have been a great shock to you. Mrs. Allison (turning away her head)-It was, for many

reasons.

Mrs. Mowbray (tentatively)-You were very fond of him? Mrs. Allison (indifferently)-Yes-at least I suppose so; at any rate I married him and he had six thousand a year! *From "Black and White."

Mrs. Mowbray (appreciatively)-And no relations! Mrs. Allison (continuing)-Only he was thirty years older than I, and an entomologist!

Mrs. Mowbray (rather shocked)-But

Mrs. Allison (continuing)—And—well, I think I was not quite so interesting as the beetles! Besides, you see, he could not put me in a glass case and pin a ticket on me which explained all about me.

Mrs. Mowbray (more shocked)-Jessie!

Mrs. Allison (laughing)—Don't look so horrified, Gwen! I really was very sorry, but that was over a year ago, and I cannot pretend that I feel called upon to go through life in crêpe Français and a black-bordered handkerchief!

Mrs. Mowbray (doubtfully)-No▬▬▬

Mrs. Allison (cheerfully)-And so let's talk about something else! Your husband won't be in yet, will he?

Mrs. Mowbray-Frank? Oh, dear, no; very likely he won't appear till dinner time. (Laughs.) We don't bore each other much you know.

Mrs. Allison (amused)-No? Why, I thought you were a model ménage.

Mrs. Mowbray-So we are, dear! conducted on economic principles; the less wear and tear you give conjugal felicity the longer it's likely to last.

Mrs. Allison-My dear Gwen! But you used to be such a sentimental person when you were Miss Quentin. You were all for love in a cottage, and bread and cheese and kisses.

Mrs. Mowbray (lightly)-My dear, the bread and cheese has had time to get stale, and the cottage must be fitted with all the modern improvements if life is to be bearable. Mrs. Allison (laughing)—Possibly.

Mrs. Mowbray-You know Gerald has come back? Just think, he has been traveling about for four years. I believe he went away just after your wedding.

Mrs. Allison (correcting)-Just before

Mrs. Mowbray-Oh, no, dear.

Mrs. Allison-I assure you

Mrs. Mowbray--My dear Jessie, surely I must know my own brother's movements better than you can. Yes, he has been away all that time, but he hasn't changed a bit. When he walked in here the other day he looked exactly as he did when we were all children.

Mrs. Allison-Really? I don't remember Gerald, you see, when he was a child.

Mrs. Mowbray (annoyed)—Well, when he and I were children, then! He is coming this afternoon-he wrote to say so this morning. But he's sure not to be here just yet, and you must have heaps of things to tell me. Were there any pleasant people at Nice?

Mrs. Allison (dreamily)—Yes, some-one, very, very-
Mrs. Mowbray (interrupting)—Why, Jessie, you don't

mean

Mrs. Allison (laughing nervously)-Don't mean what? Mrs. Mowbray (gravely)-My dear girl, I do hope it isn't one of those impossible persons one meets at Nice'

Mrs. Allison-I certainly did meet him there.

Mrs. Mowbray (dismayed)-Oh, dear! You're not serious, are you?

Mrs. Allison-I rather think I am.

Mrs. Mowbray (horrified)—Oh, why didn't Mr. Allison tie up all your money, and prevent such a thing?

Mrs. Allison (a little indignantly)-My dear Gwen! Mrs. Mowbray (feelingly)-And there is nobody to protect you.

Mrs. Allison (half amused)—But suppose I don't want to be protected.

Mrs. Mowbray (hopelessly)-Surely you have not fallen in love with the man?

Mrs. Allison (wholly amused)-Why not?

Mrs. Mowbray-Because it is too utterly ridiculous; which is he a foreigner who calls himself a Count, or an Englishman who calls himself a Colonel? He must be one

or the other-at Nice in the dead season.

Mrs. Allison (demurely)—I'm sorry, but he is neither.

Mrs. Mowbray (shaking her head)—Oh, I never dreamt of anything like this. You don't mean to say that you are actually engaged?

Mrs. Allison-That is just about what I do mean.

Mrs. Mowbray (in a depressed tone)-Well! I only hope it may turn out well. (Despondingly) It seems so dreadful, marrying a man you know nothing about.

Mrs. Allison-But I never said I knew nothing about him.

Mrs. Mowbray-But I thought

Mrs. Allison (quietly)—You're not used to the effort, dear, and it upsets you.

Mrs. Mowbray (ruffled)-It's all very well, Jessie, but you don't seem to realize that if we are only second cousins, any folly of yours reflects on us. I think you might have asked my advice, or Gerald's.

Mrs. Allison (calmly)-I don't fancy Gerald's advice would have been much to the point.

Mrs. Mowbray (angrily)-I don't see why you should disparage my brother's opinion.

Mrs. Allison (indulgently)—Naturally, you could hardly be expected to see that.

Mrs. Mowbray (resignedly)-Do you mind telling me what the man is?

Mrs. Allison (amiably)—Not in the least. Unfortunately he is nothing at all-a gentleman at large, living on hisMrs. Mowbray (interrupting)-On his wits, of course! Mrs. Allison (smiling)-Nothing so interesting, dear; I'm not sure that they would be equal to the strain. No, merely on his income.

Mrs. Mowbray (with a shrug)-Really? And when do you mean to introduce him to us?

Mrs. Allison (laughing)—Well, I asked him to call here about five.

Mrs. Mowbray-Oh! then I suppose he'll be here directly; it's exceedingly awkward, of course, but if you are quite determined, there is nothing to be done. What is his name,

Jessie?

Maid announces: Mr. Gerald Quentin.

Mrs. Mowbray (gives a sigh of relief)—I thought it was -(with a cry of amazement) Jessie!

Mrs. Allison (drawing away a little from Gerald, who has his arms round her)-You see, Gwen, it wouldn't have been much use asking Gerald's opinion

Mrs. Mowbray (half indignant, half triumphant)-Gerald! Then why on earth didn't you tell me?

Mrs. Allison (in a smothered voice from various and obvious reasons)-Because you wouldn't give me a chance!

Mrs. Mowbray is about to make a remark, but recognizes the futility of a monologue, and discreetly withdraws.

CURTAIN.