the
vehicle waiting. They glided along the path and reached Pierston's side
just as the body was deposited by the grave.

He did not turn his head. He knew it was Avice, with Henri Leverre--by
this time, he supposed, her husband. Her remorseful grief, though
silent, seemed to impregnate the atmosphere with its heaviness.
Perceiving that they had not expected him to be there Pierston edged
back; and when the service was over he kept still further aloof, an act
of considerateness which she seemed to appreciate.

Thus, by his own contrivance, neither Avice nor the young man held
communication with Jocelyn by word or by sign. After the burial they
returned as they had come.

It was supposed that his exposure that day in the bleakest churchyard
in Wessex, telling upon a distracted mental and bodily condition, had
thrown Pierston into the chill and fever which held him swaying for
weeks between life and death shortly after his return to town. When he
had passed the crisis, and began to know again that there was such a
state as mental equilibrium and physical calm, he heard a whispered
conversation going on around him, and the touch of footsteps on the
carpet. The light in the chamber was so subdued that nothing around him
could be seen with any distinctness. Two living figures were present, a
nurse moving about softly, and a visitor. He discerned that the latter
was feminine, and for the time this was all.

He was recalled to his surroundings by a voice murmuring the inquiry:
'Does the light try your eyes?'

The tones seemed familiar: they were spoken by the woman who was
visiting him. He recollected them to be Marcia's, and everything that
had happened before he fell ill came back to his mind.

'Are you helping to nurse me, Marcia?' he asked.

'Yes. I have come up to stay here till you are better, as you seem to
have no other woman friend who cares whether you are dead or alive. I am
living quite near. I am glad you have got round the corner. We have been
very anxious.'

'How good you are!... And--have you heard of the others?'

'They are married. They have been here to see you, and are very sorry.
She sat by you, but you did not know her. She was broken down when she
discovered her mother's death, which had never once occurred to her as
being imminent. They have gone away again. I thought it best she should
leave, now that you are out of danger. Now you must be quiet till I come
and talk again.'

Pierston was c