t nights, and of that first long kiss
Whereby your lips were first made one with mine,
Awake and trouble you, and loving is
Once more important and perhaps divine."

ALLEN ROSSITER. _Two in October._

I

To those who knew John Charteris only through the medium of the printed
page it must have appeared that the novelist was stayed in mid-career by
an accident of unrelieved and singular brutality. And truly, thus
extinguished by the unfounded jealousy of a madman, the force of
Charteris's genius seemed, and seems to-day, as emphasized by that
sinister caprice of chance which annihilated it.

But people in Lichfield, after the manner of each prophet's countrymen,
had their own point of view. The artist always stood between these
people and the artist's handiwork, in part obscuring it.

In any event, it was generally agreed in Lichfield that Anne Charteris's
conduct after her husband's death was not all which could be desired. To
begin with, she attended the funeral, in black, it was true, but wearing
only the lightest of net veils pinned under her chin--"more as if she
were going somewhere on the train, you know, than as if she were in
genuine bereavement."

"Jack didn't approve of mourning. He said it was a heathen survival."
That was the only explanation she offered.

It seemed inadequate to Lichfield. It was preferable, as good taste
went, for a widow to be too overcome to attend her husband's funeral at
all. And Mrs. Charteris had not wept once during the church ceremony,
and had not even had hysterics during the interment at Cedarwood; and
she had capped a scandalous morning's work by remaining with the
undertaker and the bricklayers to supervise the closing of John
Charteris's grave.

"Why, but of course. It is the last thing I will ever be allowed to do
for him," she had said, in innocent surprise. "Why shouldn't I?"

Her air was such that you were both to talk to her about appearances.

"Because she isn't a bit like a widow," as Mrs. Ashmeade pointed out.
"Anybody can condole with a widow, and devote two outer sheets to
explaining that you realize nothing you can say will be of any comfort
to her, and begin at the top of the inside page by telling her how much
better off he is to-day--which I have always thought a double-edged
assertion when advanced to a man's widow. But you cannot condole with a
lantern whose light has been blown out. That is what Anne is."

Mrs. Ashmeade meditated a