weak. Just at the end a curious idea got hold of her. She was a little
distressed that the Gainsboroughs were not there; she whispered her
feeling to Harry apologetically, well remembering his objection to that
branch of the family, and his disinclination to have them or any of them
at Blent. "Cecily ought to be here," she murmured. Harry started a
little; he was not accustomed in his own mind to concede Cecily any
rights. His mother's fear of offending him by the suggestion was very
obvious. "She'd come after you, you see, if----" she said once or twice.
There did not pass between them a word of acknowledgment that Cecily
ought to come before him. Yet he was left wondering whether that idea,
so scorned before, had not won its way to her with some sudden
strength--as though an instinct for the true heir made itself felt in
spite of all her resolution and all her prejudices, and forced her to do
something toward recognizing the claims which they were both determined
to thwart.

The barest hint of this kind would have raised Harry's suspicion and
anger a few weeks before; the new mood which Mina Zabriska had marked in
him made him take it quietly now, and even affectionately. For this
Addie Tristram was grateful; she had always the rare grace of seeming
surprised at her own power over men. It was no less in keeping with her
character and her life that the feeling she suffered under, and
manifested, was very easily appeased. Harry promised to ask the
Gainsboroughs to her funeral. Addie Tristram's conscientious scruples
were entirely laid to rest; with a sigh of peace she settled herself to
die. It was the feudal feeling, Harry decided, which insisted that the
family must not be ignored; it did not deny their humble position, or
the gulf that separated them from the succession. Yet he was vaguely
vexed, even while he agreed to what she wanted.

So she passed away in the full tide of the darkness of night. The doctor
had left her some hours before, the nurse had been sent to bed, for
there was nothing that could be done. Harry was alone with her; he
kissed her when she was dead, and stood many minutes by her, looking
from her to the picture of her that hung on the wall. A strange
loneliness was on him, a loneliness which there seemed nobody to solace.
He had said that Blent would not be much without his mother. That was
not quite right; it was much, but different. She had carried away with
her the atmosphere of the place,