y in a few minutes.'

'I could not eat or drink.'

He tried to brush away the impression of the tomb in the
heavily-curtained chamber by thinking of the summer-morn outside;
he spoke of it, the rosy sky, the dewy grass, the piping birds. She
listened, as one hearing of a quitted sphere.

Their breathing in common was just heard if either drew a deeper breath.
At moments his eyes wandered and shut. Alternately in his mind Death
had vaster meanings and doubtfuller; Life cowered under the shadow
or outshone it. He glanced from her to the figure in the bed, and she
seemed swallowed.

He said: 'It is time for you to have rest. You know your room. I will
stay till the servants are up.'

She replied: 'No, let this night with him be mine.'

'I am not intruding...?'

'If you wish to remain...'

No traces of weeping were on her face. The lampshade revealed it
colourless, and lustreless her eyes. She was robed in black. She held
her hands clasped.

'You have not suffered?'

'Oh, no.'

She said it without sighing: nor was her speech mournful, only brief.

'You have seen death before?'

'I sat by my father four nights. I was a girl then. I cried till I had
no more tears.'

He felt a burning pressure behind his eyeballs.

'Death is natural,' he said.

'It is natural to the aged. When they die honoured...'

She looked where the dead man lay. 'To sit beside the young, cut off
from their dear opening life...!' A little shudder swept over her. 'Oh!
that!'

'You were very good to come. We must all thank you for fulfilling his
wish.'

'He knew it would be my wish.'

Her hands pressed together.

'He lies peacefully!'

'I have raised the lamp on him, and wondered each time. So changeless he
lies. But so like a sleep that will wake. We never see peace but in the
features of the dead. Will you look? They are beautiful. They have a
heavenly sweetness.'

The desire to look was evidently recurrent with her. Dacier rose.

Their eyes fell together on the dead man, as thoughtfully as Death
allows to the creatures of sensation.

'And after?' he said in low tones.

'I trust to my Maker,' she replied. 'Do you see a change since he
breathed his last?'

'Not any.'

'You were with him?'

'Not in the room. Two minutes later.'

'Who...?'

'My father. His niece, Lady Cathairn.'

'If our lives are lengthened we outlive most of those we would have to
close our eyes. He had a dear sister.'

'She died some years b