he cabman and followed the girl
into Doctor McMurdoch's house. Here he made the acquaintance of Mrs.
McMurdoch, who, as experience had taught him to anticipate, was as plump
and merry and vivacious as her husband was lean, gloomy, and taciturn.
But she was a perfect well of sympathy, as her treatment of the bereaved
girl showed. She took her in her arms and hugged her in a way that was
good to see.

"We were waiting for you, dear," she said when the formality of
presenting Harley was over. "Are you quite sure that you want to go?"

Phil Abingdon nodded pathetically. She had raised her veil, and Harley
could see that her eyes were full of tears. "I should like to see the
flowers," she answered.

She was staying at the McMurdochs' house, and as the object at present
in view was that of a visit to her old home, from which the funeral
of Sir Charles Abingdon was to take place on the morrow, Harley became
suddenly conscious of the fact that his presence was inopportune.

"I believe you want to see me, Doctor McMurdoch," he said, turning to
the dour physician. "Shall I await your return or do you expect to be
detained?"

But Phil Abingdon had her own views on the matter. She stepped up beside
him and linked her arm in his.

"Please come with me, Mr. Harley," she pleaded. "I want you to."

As a result he found himself a few minutes later entering the hall
of the late Sir Charles's house. The gloved hand resting on his arm
trembled, but when he looked down solicitously into Phil Abingdon's
face she smiled bravely, and momentarily her clasp tightened as if to
reassure him.

It seemed quite natural that she should derive comfort from the presence
of this comparative stranger; and neither of the two, as they
stood there looking at the tributes to the memory of the late Sir
Charles--which overflowed from a neighbouring room into the lobby
and were even piled upon the library table--were conscious of any
strangeness in the situation.

The first thing that had struck Harley on entering the house had been
an overpowering perfume of hyacinths. Now he saw whence it arose; for,
conspicuous amid the wreaths and crosses, was an enormous device formed
of hyacinths. Its proportions dwarfed those of all the others.

Mrs. Howett, the housekeeper, a sad-eyed little figure, appeared now
from behind the bank of flowers. Her grief could not rob her of that
Old World manner which was hers, and she saluted the visitors with a bow
which