o see the
last of her. I came here, and some of the dogs remembered me. If not, I
might have had no occasion to trouble you. And I won't stay, seeing that
Henson is here. Let me have something to remember her by; let me look
into her room for a moment. If you only knew how I loved her! And you
look as if you had no grief at all."

Enid started guiltily. She had quite forgotten her _role_ for the time.
Indeed, there was something unmistakably like relief on her face as she
heard the porter's bell ring from the lodge to the house. Williams
shuffled away, muttering that he would be more useful in the house than
out of it just now, but a glance from Enid subdued him. Presently there
came the sound of wheels on the gravel outside.

"They have come for the--the coffin," Enid murmured. "Frank, it would be
best for you to go. Go upstairs, if you like; you know the way. Only,
don't stay here."

The young man went off dreamily. A heavy grief dulled and blinded his
senses; he walked along like one who wanders in his sleep. Christiana's
room door was open and a lamp was there. There were dainty knick-knacks
on the dressing-table, a vase or two of faded flowers--everything that
denotes the presence of refined and gracious womanhood.

Frank Littimer stood there looking round him for some little time. On a
table by the bedside stood a photograph of a girl in a silver frame.
Littimer pounced upon it hungrily. It was a good picture--the best of
Christiana's that he had ever seen. He slipped out into the corridor and
gently closed the door behind him. Then he passed along with his whole
gaze fixed on the portrait. The girl seemed to be smiling out of the
frame at him. He had loved Christiana since she was a child; he felt that
he had never loved her so much as at this moment. Well, he had something
to remember her by--he had not come here in vain.

It seemed impossible yet to realise that Christiana was dead, that he
would never look into her sunny, tender face again. No, he would wake up
presently and find it had all been a dream. And how different to the last
time he was here. He had been smuggled into the house, and he had
occupied the room with the oak door. He--

The room with the oak door opened and a big man with a white bandage
round his throat stood there with tottering limbs and an ugly smile on
his loose mouth. Littimer started back.

"Reginald," he exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see you here, or--"

"Or you would nev