race. She had tried so hard for two days and two nights
to keep herself together, and her nerves in check. All day to-day had
been one long continuous battle against the danger of "breaking
down," that bugbear of the conventional woman of the world.

Now this danger, backed up by this poor child's grief, loomed greater
than ever, now--now--that "breaking down" would become a positive sin,
the most abject form of cowardice. But Edie's bewilderment, her
loneliness, were intensely pathetic. Louisa had tried to be severe,
and insisted on checking the access of hysteria, but her heart went
out to the child, and to her puzzlement in face of this awful,
un-understandable riddle.

"Look here, Edie," she said gently, putting her own kind arms round
the quaking shoulders of the younger girl, "you are just going to show
father and me how brave you can be. You are Luke's nearest and dearest
one on earth; you must not add to his troubles by this exaggerated
show of grief. We'll all have to be brave--all of us--but Luke will
have to be the bravest of us all, and so we must all do our best to
keep up our courage, and help his own."

She was not accustomed to making such long speeches, nor yet to preach
and to admonish. Life, before now, had never placed her in the
necessity of admonishing others: everybody round her--the people with
whom she came in contact always behaved very much as they should--in
the proper conventional worldly manner. People she had hitherto to do
with, did not give way to hysterical tears, nor had they occasion to
display fortitude in the face of an overwhelming moral shock.

Therefore Louisa was not sure if her words would carry weight, or if
they would produce the effect she desired. She gazed anxiously at Edie
whilst she spoke, looking with hopeful yet fearful eyes in the poor
girl's face, wondering if she had succeeded in calming the hysterical
outburst.

Edie hung her head, wilfully veiling her eyes beneath the drooping
lids. She twirled her gossamer handkerchief into a tight wet ball and
toyed with it nervously.

"It's not much good," she said at last, in very low tones so that
Louisa had some difficulty in hearing what she said, "my trying to be
brave--when Luke is such a coward!"

"Be quiet, Edie," retorted Louisa, all her kindness and sympathy gone,
and pushing the girl roughly away from her. "You have no right to talk
like that."

"Well, Colonel Harris," rejoined Edie, turning to the man in h