WHITEWASH
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,
