ntleman scanned her stonily white
face, so worn in this brief moment of suffering, and listened to her
last words with wonder.

"Then you are not Mrs. Dering?"

"No!" Olive did not seem surprised at the question, but her eyes went to
his face slowly, and her lips began to twitch. "How will we ever tell
her; oh! how will we?" she murmured, clasping her hands tightly; but the
stranger heard the low words, and spoke hurriedly, with his eyes on the
dead face.

"If you are expecting her, some one had better go to prepare her, for
the shock might prove----"

Olive did not wait for more, but snatching a shawl from the chair,
saying as she vanished:

"I will go, only stay 'till we come back."

The moon was coming slowly through a bank of clouds, and the wind
sighing mournfully through the bare treetops, as she sped swiftly down
the path and through the gate, whose familiar slam sounded dreary and
dull, though it hardly reached her, as she ran down the quiet street.

In just a few minutes she saw another figure wearing a familiar shawl in
the moonlight.

"Why, Olive," cried Mrs. Dering. "Were you all worried about me. Mr.
Dane wanted to walk home with me, but I told him I would stop at the
store for papa, and when I got there, the boy told me he had taken the
afternoon train to the city; some sudden business I suppose. Why dear,
how you have run!"

"Oh, mama!" it was Olive's only utterance, but it told its own story,
for Mrs. Dering instantly grasped the hand held out to her and inquired
sharply:

"What is it, quick,--any trouble at home?"

"Yes,"--gaspingly.

"What,--I heard them talking of an accident,--Oh! Olive!"

"Papa," said Olive, growing calm as she saw her mother blanch and
tremble in the pale light; but Mrs. Dering waited for no more; grasping
Olive's hand still tighter, she broke into a swift run, that did not
slacken, until the steps were reached, and the sobbing within reached
their ears; then Olive forcibly held her back an instant.

"Oh, mama,--wait,--let me tell you,--"

"No,--he is dead, I know it;" and breaking from the detaining hold, Mrs.
Dering ran in, and when Olive reached the door, she was kneeling beside
the litter, with one dead hand pressed to her hidden face.

In a moment they knew that she was praying, and feeling in the presence
of something sacred, each man bent his head reverently, and covering her
face, Olive too, tried to pray, and shed her first tears.

CHAPTER VI.