in a
year they were married, and most happily.

Yet Godfrey was destined never to see that graceful figure and gay
little face again, since long before he revisited Lucerne Juliette died
on the birth of her third child. And soon, who thought of Juliette
except perhaps Godfrey, for her husband married again very shortly, as
a worthy and domestic person of the sort would do. Her children were
too young to remember her, and her mother, not long afterwards, was
carried off by a sudden illness, pneumonia, to join her in the Shades.
Except the Pasteur himself none was left.

Well, such is the way of this sad world of change and death. But
Godfrey never forgot the picture of her standing breathless on the rock
and kissing her slim hand to him. It was one of those incidents which,
when they happen to a man in his youth, remain indelibly impressed upon
his mind.

At the station there were more farewells, for here was the notary, who
had managed Miss Ogilvy's Swiss affairs and now, under the direction of
Monsieur Boiset, attended to those of Godfrey. Also such of the
servants were present as had been kept on at the Villa, while among
those walking about the platform he saw Brother Josiah Smith and
Professor Petersen, who had come evidently to see the last of him, and
make report to a certain quarter.

The Pasteur talked continually, in his high, thin voice, to cover up
his agitation, but what it was all about Godfrey could never remember.
All he recollected of the parting was being taken into those long arms,
embraced upon the forehead, and most fervently blessed.

Then the train steamed off, and he felt glad that all was over.

CHAPTER XII

HOME

About forty-eight hours later Godfrey arrived duly at the little Essex
station three miles from Monk's Acre. There was nobody to meet him,
which was not strange, as the hour of his coming was unknown. Still,
unreasonable as it might be, the contrast between the warmth and
affection that had distinguished his departure, and the cold vacuum
that greeted his arrival, chilled him. He said a few words to the
grumpy old porter who was the sole occupant of the platform, but that
worthy, although he knew him well enough, did not seem to realise that
he had ever been away. During the year in which so many things had
happened to Godfrey nothing at all had happened to the porter, and
therefore he did not appreciate the lapse of time.

Leaving his baggage to be brought by the carrie