bier, and so the sad procession winds its solemn way up to the
old Court, with Sir Mark at its head and Dicky Browne at his feet, and
Portia, with bare uplifted head and wrapt eyes, still clinging fondly to
the poor clay, so well beloved by all.

Silently, with breaking hearts, they carry him into the grand old hall,
and lay him reverently upon the marble flooring. Silently, they gaze
upon his unmarred beauty. Not a sound--not a sob--disturbs the sacred
stillness. Portia, always with his hand in hers, falls upon her knees,
and, pressing it against her breast, raises her eyes devoutly
heavenward. One by one, they all withdraw--Sir Mark, to break the
terrible news to the old man. She is alone with her dead! With a little
sigh she crouches close to him, and lays her cheek against his. The icy
contact conveys no terror to her mind. She does not shrink from him, but
softly, tenderly, caresses him from time to time, and yet he moves not,
nor wakens into life beneath her gentle touch. Truly,

"After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well."

CHAPTER XXIX.

"'Whom the gods love die young,' was said of yore."
--DON JUAN.

"Death came with friendly care."
--COLERIDGE.

IT all happened only yesterday, yet how long ago it seems already; and
now the sun is shining again, bravely, cheerily, as though life is all
made up of joy and gladness, and as though storms that despoil the
earth, and heavier storms that wreck the soul, are miseries unknown; and
yet he is dead, and she--

In silence they had carried him to his own chamber, and had laid him on
his bed, she going with him always with his clay-cold hand in hers, and
never a moan from her pale lips.

The storm had gone down by that, and a strange mournful stillness,
terrible after the late rioting of the elements, covered all the land.
The silence might be felt, and through it they listened eagerly for her
sighs, and hoped for the tears that should have come to ease her
stricken heart, but all in vain; and watching her they knew at last that
the springs of grief within her were frozen, and that the blessed
healing waters that can cool the burning fever of despair were not to
flow for her. Only a certain curious calm lay on her, killing all
outward demonstrations of grief. She spoke to no one, she was hardly,
perhaps, at times, aware of the presence of those around he