ily had
been looking out for Downe at the beginning of the year, when Downe had
slipped into the gutter and his wife had been so enviably tender towards
him. The old neatness had gone from the house; articles lay in places
which could show no reason for their presence, as if momentarily
deposited there some months ago, and forgotten ever since; there were no
flowers; things were jumbled together on the furniture which should have
been in cupboards; and the place in general had that stagnant,
unrenovated air which usually pervades the maimed home of the widower.

Downe soon renewed his customary full-worded lament over his wife, and
even when he had worked himself up to tears, went on volubly, as if a
listener were a luxury to be enjoyed whenever he could be caught.

'She was a treasure beyond compare, Mr. Barnet! I shall never see such
another. Nobody now to nurse me--nobody to console me in those daily
troubles, you know, Barnet, which make consolation so necessary to a
nature like mine. It would be unbecoming to repine, for her spirit's
home was elsewhere--the tender light in her eyes always showed it; but it
is a long dreary time that I have before me, and nobody else can ever
fill the void left in my heart by her loss--nobody--nobody!' And Downe
wiped his eyes again.

'She was a good woman in the highest sense,' gravely answered Barnet,
who, though Downe's words drew genuine compassion from his heart, could
not help feeling that a tender reticence would have been a finer tribute
to Mrs. Downe's really sterling virtues than such a second-class lament
as this.

'I have something to show you,' Downe resumed, producing from a drawer a
sheet of paper on which was an elaborate design for a canopied tomb.
'This has been sent me by the architect, but it is not exactly what I
want.'

'You have got Jones to do it, I see, the man who is carrying out my
house,' said Barnet, as he glanced at the signature to the drawing.

'Yes, but it is not quite what I want. I want something more
striking--more like a tomb I have seen in St. Paul's Cathedral. Nothing
less will do justice to my feelings, and how far short of them that will
fall!'

Barnet privately thought the design a sufficiently imposing one as it
stood, even extravagantly ornate; but, feeling that he had no right to
criticize, he said gently, 'Downe, should you not live more in your
children's lives at the present time, and soften the sharpness of regret
for