all her own. Yet her
manners were not gloomy, nor her air tragic, for he found her an
excellent companion, fond of children and flowers, and at times merry in
her own fashion. But this gaiety of hers always reminded Morris of that
which is said to have prevailed in the days of the Terror among those
destined to the guillotine. Never for one hour did she seem to forget
the end. "'Vanity of vanities,' saith the Preacher"; and that lesson was
her watchword.

One evening they were walking together upon the cliff. In the west the
sun had sunk, leaving a pale, lemon-coloured glow upon the sky. Then far
away over the quiet sea, showing bright and large in that frosty air,
sprang out a single star. Stella halted in her walk, and looked first
at the sunset heaven, next at the solemn sea, and last at that bright,
particular star set like a diadem of power upon the brow of advancing
night. Morris, watching her, saw the blood mantle to her pale face,
while the dark eyes grew large and luminous, proud, too, and full of
secret strength. At length his curiosity got the better of him.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked.

"Do you wish me to tell you?"

"Yes, if you will."

"You will laugh at me."

"Yes--as I laugh at that sky, and sea, and star."

"Well, then, I was thinking of the old, eternal difference between the
present and the future."

"You mean between life and death?" queried Morris, and she nodded,
answering:

"Between life and death, and how little people see or think of it. They
just live and forget that beneath them lie their fathers' bones. They
forget that in some few days--perhaps more, perhaps less--other unknown
creatures will be standing above _their_ forgotten bones, as blind,
as self-seeking, as puffed up with the pride of the brief moment, and
filled with the despair of their failure, the glory of their success, as
they are to-night."

"Perhaps," suggested Morris, "they say that while they are in the world
it is well to be of the world; that when they belong to the next it will
be time to consider it. I am not sure that they are not right. I have
heard that view," he added, remembering a certain conversation with
Mary.

"Oh, don't think that!" she answered, almost imploringly; "for it is not
true, really it is not true. Of course, the next world belongs to all,
but our lot in it does not come to us by right, that must be earned."

"The old doctrine of our Faith," suggested Morris.

"Yes; but, a