ust gone away. It was all no use."

"Tell me about it," I whispered.

"About what?" he said, looking troubled.

"About how it happened."

"Nobody can tell," he answered, averting his face. "We can only
conjecture about some things. Don't try to think about it. Try to rest."

"How does he look?" I whispered, clinging to his hand.

"Just the same as ever; more quiet, perhaps," he answered, looking
troubled.

I gave a sort of gasp, but did not cry. I think he was frightened, for
he said, uneasily, "Let me call Bettina; she can give you
something--she can sit beside you."

I shook my head, and said, faintly, "Don't let her come."

"I have sent for Sophie," he said, soothingly. "She will soon be here,
and will know what to do for you."

"Keep her out of this room," I cried, half raising myself, and then
falling back from sudden faintness. "Don't let her come _near_ me," I
panted, after a moment, "nor any of them, but, most of all, Sophie;
remember--don't let her even look at me;" and with moaning, I turned my
face down on the pillow. I had taken in about a thousandth fraction of
my great calamity by that time. Every moment was giving to me some
additional possession of it.

Some one at that instant called Richard, in that subdued tone that
people use about a house in which there is one dead.

"I have got to go," he said, uneasily. I still kept hold of his hand.
"But I will come back before very long; and I will tell Bettina to bring
a chair and sit outside your door, and not let any one come in."

"That will do," I said, letting go his hand, "only I don't want my door
shut tight."

I felt as if the separation were not so entire, so tremendous, while I
could hear what was going on below, and know that no door was shut
between us--no door! Bettina, in a moment more, had taken up her station
in the passage-way outside.

I heard people coming and going quietly through the hall below. I heard
doors softly shut and opened.

I knew, by some intuition, that _he_ was lying in the library. They
moved furniture with a smothered sound; and when I heard two or three
men sent off on messages by Richard, even the horses' hoofs seemed to be
muffled as they struck the ground. This was the effect of the coming in
of death into busy, household life. I had never been under the roof with
it before.

About dusk a servant came to the door, with a tray of tea and something
to eat, that Mr. Richard had sent her with.

"No," I