ssing soul. The band had learned its
lesson by now. The dirge for the dead arose in a volume well regulated
and sustained as the men marched from the hall at last for the final
trial on the street.

To the tapping rhythm of the anthem of the dead, sometimes such a
community as this does take thought--these uniforms are justified, these
white plumes, these reversed swords are justified; for an humble man who
has passed is dignified before his fellow men; and he has had his
tribute. Sometimes at least men thus stand shoulder to shoulder, heads
bared, and forget envy, backbiting, little jealousies, forget cynicism
and ridicule. The diapason of the drums surely had its hearing. It sank
deep to the soul of Aurora Lane, striking some chord long left
unresponsive.

"Anne!" said she, her hand lying in that of the wet-eyed girl at her
side, "it's over--for him."

The girl nodded. But after all, Anne was young. She raised her head in
the arrogance of youth, even as there passed more and more remotely the
mournful cadence of the drums.

"But he was old!" she said, defensively. All of youth and hope was in
her protest.

Aurora turned upon her her own large eyes, dark-ringed today. Her mouth,
long drawn down in resolution, was wondrous sweet now as it trembled a
little in its once ripe red fulness. It became the mouth of a young
woman--not made for sorrow. "You still can hope, then?" she smiled. And
Anne nodded, bravely. So, seeing replica of her own soul, Aurora Lane
could do no more nor less than to fold her in her own arms, the two
understanding perfectly a thousand unsaid things.

"But come!" said Anne Oglesby at last. "We must make plans. There's a
lot to be done yet, and we must start."

"I have no money," said Aurora Lane. "I don't know what to do."

"Money isn't everything," said Anne Oglesby, with the assurance of those
who have all the money that they need. "I suppose I have plenty of money
if my guardian will let me have it."

"Even if your guardian allowed it," said Aurora Lane proudly, "Don would
not. He would not let you help him, nor would I, though we are
paupers--worse than that. Did you know that, Anne?"

"I am finding out these things one by one," was the girl's reply. "But
they have come after my decision." She spoke with her own quaint
primness and certainty of her mind.

"There's just one man could help us," said Aurora Lane, hesitating, and
coloring a trifle. "I mean Mr. Brooks, Horace Brooks. He