e on his ear. Netty was at the piano in the
drawing-room. He must calm himself. His hand was shaking and his knees
trembling. He could only murmur, "Poor Dick! Poor Dick!" and weep like a
child.

The music continued in a brighter key, and jarred upon him. He covered
his ears, and paced up and down the room as though racked with pain.

"How can I tell them--how can I tell them?" he sobbed. "Our poor boy--our
fine boy--our little Dick, who had grown into such a fine, big chap. He
died gloriously--yes, there's some consolation in that. But it doesn't
wipe out the horror of it, my poor lad. Shot as a spy! Executed! A crowd
of ruffians leveling their guns at you--my poor lad--"

He could not follow the picture further. He buried his face in his hands
and dropped into the little tub chair by the fire. The music in the next
room broke into a canter, with little ripples of gaiety.

"Stop!" he cried in his agony.

At the moment, the study door opened gently--the soft rustle of silk--his
wife.

In an instant, she was at his side.

"What is it--what has happened?"

He rose, and extended his hand to her like a blind man. "Dick--"

"Is dead! Oh!"

A long, tremulous cry, and she fell into his arms. "I knew it--I felt it
coming. Oh, Dick--Dick, why did they make you go?"

"He died gloriously, darling--for his country, performing an act of
gallantry--volunteering to run a great risk. A hero's death."

They wept in each other's arms for some moments, and the gay music
stopped of its own accord.

"Netty will be here in a moment, and she'll have to be told," said Mrs.
Swinton. "The bishop and the others mustn't get an inkling of what has
happened. Their condolences would madden us. Send them away, John--send
them away."

"They'll be going presently, darling. If I send them away, I must explain
why. Pull yourself together. We've faced trouble before, and must face
this. It is our first real loss in this world. We still have Netty."

"Netty! Netty!" cried his wife, with a petulance that almost shocked him.
"What is she compared with Dick? And they've taken him--killed him. Oh,
Dick!"

Netty's voice could be heard, laughing and talking in a high key as she
opened the drawing-room door. "I'll find her," she was saying, and in
another moment she burst into the study.

"Mother--mother, they're all asking for you. The bishop is going now.
Why, what is the matter?"

"Your mother and I are not very well, Netty, dear. Tell th