She heard the quick step in the passage, the tap at the ante-room door, and the whispering of her black page.

Quivering with impatience, she rushed in and took the note herself from the dusty cavalier who had brought it.

It was but six words scrawled roughly upon a wisp of dirty paper, but it brought the colour back to her cheeks and the smile to her lips.

It was her brother's writing, and it ran: "The archbishop will not come to-night.".