g the heart could
wish. Look at her rooms! I wonder who'll----"

Carriages were heard outside, and two or three men came in to do the last
offices. Glory had turned her face away, but behind her the women were
still talking. "Wait a minute, mister!... What a lovely ring!... I wish
I had a keepsake to remember her by." "Well, and why not? She won't
want----"

Glory felt as if she was choking, but Polly's pug dog had been awakened
by the commotion and was beginning to howl, so she took up the little
mourner and carried it out. An organ-man somewhere near was playing Sweet
Marie.

The funeral was at Kensal Green, and the four girls were the only
followers. The coroner's verdict being _felo-de-se_, the body was not
taken into the chapel, but a clergyman met it at the gate and led the way
to the grave. Walking with her head down and the dog under her arm, Glory
had not seen him at first, but when he began with the tremendous words,
"I am the resurrection and the life," she caught her breath and looked
up. It was John Storm.

While they were in the carriage the clouds had been gathering, and now
some spots of rain were falling. When the bearers had laid down their
burden the spots were large and frequent, and all save one of the men
turned and went back to the shelter of the porch. The three women looked
at each other, and one of them muttered something about "the dead and the
living," and then the little lady stole away. After a moment the tall one
followed her, and from shame of being ashamed the third one went off
also.

By this time the rain was falling in a sharp shower, and John Storm, who
was bareheaded, had opened his book and begun to read: "Forasmuch as it
hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the
soul of our dear sister here departed----"

Then he saw that Glory was alone by the graveside, and his voice faltered
and almost failed him. It faltered again, and he halted when he came to
the "sure and certain hope," but after a moment it quivered and filled
out and seemed to say, "Which of us can sound the depths of God's
design?" After the "maimed rites" were over, John Storm went back to the
chapel to remove his surplice, and when he returned to the grave Glory
was gone.

She sang as usual at the music hall that night, but with a heavy heart.
The difference communicated itself to the audience, and the unanimous
applause which had greeted her before frayed off at length into separat