It made her smile to think how little
she preserved of that same 'genuine independence;' but the smile had no
bitterness.

Meanwhile, nothing was heard of Horace. The winter passed, and June
had come before Nancy again saw her brother's handwriting. It was on an
ordinary envelope, posted, as she saw by the office-stamp, at Brighton;
the greater her surprise to read a few lines which coldly informed
her that Horace's wife no longer lived. 'She took cold one evening a
fortnight ago, and died after three days' illness.'

Nancy tried to feel glad, but she had little hope of any benefit to her
brother from this close of a sordid tragedy. She answered his letter,
and begged that, as soon as he felt able to do so, he would come and see
her. A month's silence on Horace's part had led her to conclude that he
would not come, when, without warning, he presented himself at her door.
It was morning, and he stayed till nightfall, but talked very little.
Sitting in the same place hour after hour, he seemed overcome with a
complete exhaustion, which made speech too great an effort and kept his
thoughts straying idly. Fanny's name did not pass his lips; when Nancy
ventured an inquiry concerning her, he made an impatient gesture, and
spoke of something else.

His only purpose in coming, it appeared, was to ask for information
about the Bahamas.

'I can't get rid of my cough, and I'm afraid it may turn to something
dangerous. You said, I remember, that people with weak chests wintered
in the Bahamas.'

'Lionel can tell you all about it. He'll be here to-morrow. Come and
have a talk with him.'

'No.' He moved pettishly. 'Tell me as much as you know yourself. I don't
feel well enough to meet people.'

Looking at him with profound compassion, Nancy thought it very doubtful
whether he would see another winter. But she told him all she could
remember about Nassau, and encouraged him to look forward with pleasure
and hopefulness to a voyage thither.

'How are you going to live till then?'

'What do you mean?' he answered, with a startled and irritated look.
'I'm not so bad as all that.'

'I meant--how are you going to arrange your life?' Nancy hastened to
explain.

'Oh, I have comfortable lodgings.'

'But you oughtn't to be quite alone.--I mean it must be so cheerless.'

She made a proposal that he should have a room in this little house,
and use it as a home whenever he chose; but Horace so fretted under the
suggestion, that