hours ago since she and her daughter had sat with the old lady.

With the mingled pomp, enjoyment, and grief which the presence of death
creates in a certain type of mind, Howse went on speaking: "She made
quite a hearty tea for her--two bits of bread and butter, and a little
piece of tea-cake. And then for her supper she had a sweetbread--a
sweetbread and bacon. It's a comfort to Cook now, ma'am, to remember as
how Mrs. Guthrie sent her a message, saying how nicely she thought the
bacon had been done. Mrs. Guthrie always liked the bacon to be very dry
and curly, ma'am."

He stopped for a moment, and Mrs. Otway's eyes filled with tears for the
first time.

On entering the house, she had at once been shown the War Office
telegram stating that Major Guthrie was wounded and missing, and she had
glanced over it with shuddering distress and pain, while her brain kept
repeating "wounded and missing--wounded and missing." What exactly did
those sinister words signify? How, if he was missing, could they know he
was wounded? How, if he had been wounded, could he be missing?

But soon she had been forced to command her thoughts, and to listen,
with an outward air of calmness and interest, to this detailed account
of the poor old lady's last hours.

With unconscious gusto, Howse again took up the sad tale, while the maid
stood by, with reddened eyelids, ready to echo and to supplement his
narrative.

"Perhaps Mrs. Guthrie was not quite as well as she seemed to be, ma'am,
for she wouldn't take any dessert, and after she had finished her dinner
she didn't seem to want to sit up for a while, as she sometimes did.
When she became so infirm, a matter of two years ago, the Major arranged
that his study should be turned into a bedroom for her, ma'am, so we
wheeled her in there after dinner."

After a pause, he went on with an added touch of gloom: "She gazed her
last upon the dining-room, and on this 'ere little room, which was, so
to speak, ma'am, her favourite sitting-room. Isn't that so, Ponting?"
The maid nodded, and Howse said sadly: "Ponting will now tell you what
happened after that, ma'am."

Ponting waited a moment, and then began: "My mistress didn't seem
inclined to go to bed at once, so I settled her down nicely and
comfortably with her reading-lamp and a copy of _The World_ newspaper.
She found the papers very dull lately, poor old lady, for you see,
ma'am, there was nothing in them but things about the war, and she