one can help us in those matters. There is no duplex!"
Quimby was therefore left to his own devices; and his own devices brought about a most extraordinary result.
That same evening, Nattie coming over to Cyn's room, and finding her absent, sat down to await her return, which Mrs. Simonson assured her would be very soon. There was no gas lighted, and in the dusk Nattie remained, feeling, perhaps, an affinity with the somber shadows of the twilight. As she sat musing, now wishing "C" had left her life forever when he left it with the odors of musk and bear's-grease about him, and now despising herself for the weakness she found it so hard to overcome, she became conscious of a denser shadow in the shadows of the open door.
"I—I beg pardon. Is it Cyn?" asked this shadow, in the voice of Quimby.
"No," Nattie replied, "Cyn is out."
"I—I beg pardon. Is it you?" the shadow asked with accents of delight.
Nattie acknowledged the "you."
"And you—you are alone?"
Nattie glanced around the room hoping the Duchess had strayed in, so she might truthfully
