at night.
Mother loves talking about it. She has not much fun in her life now,
poor dear, and that makes her think all the more of her youth. We envy
her, Ruth and Trix and I, because we have a very quiet time at home. We
are poor, you see. You can't have much fun if you are poor."

"You think that riches are the one thing needful; that if you had enough
money your happiness would be assured?"

"Ah!" sighed Mollie rapturously. "_How_ happy I should be! I've never
had enough money for my wants in all my life, so I can't even imagine
the bliss of it. I should not know how to be happy enough."

The old man looked at her silently. She saw that he was about to speak,
but the words were long in coming. A cloud had drifted across the sun,
and the stretch of park looked suddenly grey and bare. Mollie drew her
shoulders together with an involuntary shiver. Something had suddenly
damped her ardour of enthusiasm; but it was not so much the bleak wind
as the sight of the face gazing into her own, with its set lips, and
bleached, joyless expression. For years to come Mollie could recall
that moment, and feel again the chill in her veins with which she
listened to his reply.

"All my life long," said Bernard Farrell slowly, "all my life everything
that I have touched has turned to gold, and everyone I have loved,"--he
paused, lingering on the word, and again Mollie shivered in sympathetic
understanding--"everyone whom I have loved has _died_!" The wind seemed
to take up the word, and repeat it in melancholy echo. "Died! died!
died!" wailed the trees, tossing drearily to and fro. "Died!" shivered
the ripple over the cold grey lake. The clouds gathered in a pall
overhead.

"I'm sorry!" gasped Mollie faintly--"I'm so sorry!" But Mr Farrell
stopped her with a hasty gesture.

"Please spare me protestations of sympathy. They were the last thing I
wished to evoke. I merely wished to impress upon you that I am in a
unique position for judging the worth of riches.--Is it your pleasure
that we continue our journey? The afternoon is growing chill."

Mollie rose in confusion, but she did not reply, nor make any further
offer of support. There was something in the old man's voice which
forbade familiarities. He was no longer merely cross and unamiable; she
had caught a glimpse into the secret of a desolate heart, and the sight
sobered her youthful spirits.

"First his wife," she said to herself, as she led the way