"I will write at once," said the countess. And she rose and crossed to the ante-room. [27] [27] There was a writing-table amongst the furniture; the servants saw her go to it, and noiselessly left the room. She took up the pen and thought a moment, then wrote: CONTENTS "My Dear Lenore,—Will you come down and spend a week with us? We have a few friends with us, but we are not complete without you. Do not say 'No,' but come. I do not name any day, so that you may be free to fix your own." My Dear Lenore "Yours affectionately, "Ethel Wyndward." Ethel Wyndward "P.S.—Leycester is with us." As she wrote the signature she heard a step behind her, which she knew was Leycester's. He stopped short as he saw her, and coming up to her, put his hand on her white shoulder. "Writing, mother?" he said. The countess folded her letter. "Yes. Where are you going?" He pointed to the Louis Quatorze clock that ticked solemnly on a bracket. "Ten o'clock, mother," he said, with a smile. "Oh, yes; I see," she assented. He stood for a moment looking down at her with all a young man's filial pride in a mother's beauty, and, bending down, touched her cheek with his lips, then passed out.
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