years, he has never once
spoken harshly to me. And see how lovingly he looks at Peter, who really
is a most unattractive little dog. Did you ever hear the duchess's _bon
mot_ about Michael? He and I once stayed together at Overdene; but she
did not ask us again until he was abroad, fishing in Norway; so of course
I went by myself. The duchess always does those things frankly, and
explains them. Therefore on this occasion she said: 'My dear, I enjoy a
visit from you; but you must only come, when you can come alone. I will
never undertake again, to live up to your good Michael. It really was a
case of St. Michael and All Angels. _He_ was St. Michael, and _we_ had to
be all angels!' Wasn't it like the duchess; and a beautiful testimony to
Michael's consistent goodness? Oh, I wish you knew him better. And, for
the matter of that, I wish I knew him better! But after all I _am_ his
wife. Nothing can rob me of that. And don't you think--when Michael comes
home this time--somehow, all will be different; better than ever
before?"

The hall clock chimed three-quarters after the hour.

The clang of a bell resounded through the silent house.

Peter sat up, and barked once, sharply.

The doctor rose and stood with his back to the fire, facing the door.

Myra's question remained unanswered.

Hurried steps approached.

A footman entered, with a telegram for Lady Ingleby.

She took it with calm fingers, and without the usual sinking of the heart
from sudden apprehension. Her mind was full of the conversation of the
moment, and the doctor's presence made her feel so strong and safe; so
sure of no approach of evil tidings.

She did not hear Sir Deryck's quiet voice say to the man: "You need not
wait."

As the door closed, the doctor turned away, and stood looking into the
fire.

The room was very still.

Lady Ingleby opened her telegram, unfolded it slowly, and read it through
twice.

Afterwards she sat on, in such absolute silence that, at length, the
doctor turned and looked at her.

She met his eyes, quietly.

"Sir Deryck," she said, "it is from the War Office. They tell me Michael
has been killed. Do you think it is true?"

She handed him the telegram. Taking it from her, he read it in silence.
Then: "Dear Lady Ingleby," he said, very gently, "I fear there is no
doubt. He has given his life for his country. You will be as brave in
giving him, as he would wish his wife to be."

Myra smiled; but the doctor saw he