y which the passing soul has
left behind.

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRANSFORMING MAGIC

No clamour of mourning broke the spell of silence that lay upon
Baronmead. Those who wept hid their grief behind closed doors. But those
to whom Lucas was dearest shed the fewest tears. His mother went about
with a calmness of aspect that never faltered. She and Anne were very
close to each other in those days though but few words passed between
them. A hush that was like a benediction brooded upon the silent house.
They could not weep.

Once, standing in the hallowed stillness beside her dead, Mrs. Errol
turned to Anne, saying softly: "The dear Lord knows best, dear. We
wouldn't call him back. He wouldn't want to come."

And later she told her gently that she had known ever since the operation
that the end was near.

"It was in his eyes," she said. "I know that look so well. Dr. Capper
knew it too. And so, I'm sure, did the dear boy himself. That waiting,
far-off look as if the soul were listening, didn't you see it, dear? I
only wondered that he stayed so long."

Yes, Anne had seen it. She knew it now. Though he had smiled upon her,
though he had held her hand, she knew that all human longing had died in
Lucas Errol's soul on the night that he had gone down to the Gate of
Death and Nap had drawn him back. He had slackened his hold upon things
earthly that night, and though he had come back a little way, it had been
as a spectator only that he lingered, no more as one who took an active
part in the drama of mortal life. His _role_ was played; she realised now
that he must have known it, and that he had not wished it otherwise. He
had not died with that kingly smile upon his lips if he had not been
content to die. That was why grief seemed to her impossible. That was why
the peace in which he lay, wrapped tenderly around her tired heart also
and gave her rest.

Of Nap during those days of silence she saw nothing whatever. He had
risen from his brother's death-bed with a face of stony aloofness, and
had gone swiftly out, she knew not whither. Since that moment she had
scarcely seen him. He spent his time out of the house, somewhere away in
the woods she believed, out of reach of any human observation, not even
returning at night. Once only in the early morning she saw him cross the
stretch of lawn in front of the lake and enter by a side door. But her
glimpse of him was of the briefest. She did not see his face.

Upon Ber