unity to respond to a summons
from her friends in the north, whom she had not seen for four years.
Beatrice replied to a letter from Mrs. Rossall which had been forwarded
to her.

After breakfast, Mrs. Rossall took her brother aside, and pointed out to
him a paragraph in Beatrice's letter. It ran thus:--

'A very shocking thing has happened, which I suppose I may mention, as
you will necessarily hear of it soon. Miss Hood's father has committed
suicide, poisoned himself; he was found dead on a common just outside
the town. Nobody seems to know any reason, unless it was trouble of a
pecuniary kind. Miss Hood is seriously ill. The Baxendales send daily to
make inquiries, and I am afraid the latest news is anything but hopeful.
She was to have dined with us here the day after her father's death.'

There was no further comment; the writer went on to speak of certain
peculiarities in the mode of conducting service at St. Luke's church.

Mr. Athel read, and, in his manner, whistled low. His sister looked
interrogation.

'I suppose we shall have to tell him,' said the former. 'Probably he has
no means of hearing.'

'I suppose we must. He has been anxious at not receiving letters he
expected.'

'How do you know?'

'I had a talk with him last night.'

'Ah, so I thought. The deuce take it! Of course he'll pack off on the
moment. What on earth can have induced the man to poison himself?'

Such a proceeding was so at variance with Mr. Athel's views of life that
it made him seriously uncomfortable. It suggested criminality, or at
least lunacy, both such very unpleasant things to be even remotely
connected with. Poverty he could pardon, but suicide was really
disreputable. From the philosophic resignation to which he had attained,
he fell back into petulance, always easier to him than grave protest.

'The deuce take it!' he repeated.

Mrs. Rossall pointed to the words reporting Emily's condition at the
time of writing.

'That was more than two days ago,' she said meaningly.

'H'm!' went her brother.

'Will you tell him?'

'I suppose I must. Yes, it is hardly allowable even to postpone it.
Where is he?'

Wilfrid was found in the hotel garden.

'Your aunt has had a letter from Beatrice,' Mr. Athel began, with the
awkwardness of a comfortable Englishman called upon to break bad news.
'She is staying in Dunfield.'

'Indeed?'

'There's something in the letter you ought to know.'

Wilfrid looked anxiously.

'