n his breast.

"Dear," said Margaret, "my heart aches for you."

"She was all I had," whispered Iris.

"But not all you have. Lynn and I, and Doctor Brinkerhoff--surely we are
something."

"Did you ever care?" asked Iris, her despairing eyes fixed upon
Margaret.

The older woman shrank from the question. She was tempted to dissemble,
but one tells the truth in the presence of Death.

"Not as you care," she answered. "My mother broke my heart. She took me
away from the man I loved, and forced me to marry another, whom I only
respected. When my husband died, I had my freedom, but it came too late.
When my mother died--she died unforgiven."

"Then you don't understand."

"Yes, dear, I understand. You must remember that I loved her too."

"Suppose it had been Lynn?"

"Lynn!" cried Margaret, with her lips white. "Lynn! Dear God, no!"

Iris laughed hysterically. "You do not understand," she said, with
forced calmness, "but you would if it were Lynn. You would not let me
keep you away if it were Lynn instead of Aunt Peace, so please do not
disturb me again."

Back she went, into the darkened chamber, and closed the door.

Lynn walked back and forth through the halls aimlessly. All along, he
had felt the repulsion of the healthy young animal for the aged and ill.
Now he was unmoved, save by the dank, sweet smell of the house of death.
It grated on his sensibilities and made him shudder. He wished that it
was over.

From his mother, he felt a curious alienation. Her eyes were red, and,
man-like, Lynn hated tears. From Doctor Brinkerhoff, too, a gulf divided
him.

His fingers itched for his violin, but he could not practise. It would
not disturb Aunt Peace, but it would be considered out of keeping with
the situation. The Doctor's rooms over the post-office were also
impossible. He smiled at the thought of the gossip which would permeate
East Lancaster if he should practise there.

But at Herr Kaufmann's? His face brightened, and with characteristic
impulsiveness he hastened downstairs.

Doctor Brinkerhoff still stood in the hall, a little wearily, perhaps,
but calmness overlaid his features like a mask. Lynn wondered at the
change in him.

"Mr. Irving," he said, huskily, "you were going out?"

"Yes," replied Lynn, "to Herr Kaufmann's. I can do nothing here," he
added, by way of apology.

"No," sighed the Doctor, "no one can do anything here, but wait one
moment."

"Yes?" responded Lynn, with a rising