he
Willie, who had thought him troublesome--giving all the anecdotes, to
which Frank listened with set face and dry eyes, storing them for his
wife. He thanked Mrs. Morton for all her care and tenderness, and
expended assurances that no one thought her to blame.

'It is one of those dispensations,' he said, 'that no one can guard
against. We can only be thankful for the years of joy that no one can
take from us, and try to be worthy to meet him hereafter.'

Mrs. Morton had wept so much that she was very glad to seize the first
excuse for wishing good-night. She said that she had put all Michael's
little things in a box in his father's room, for him to take home to his
mother, and bade Frank--as once more she called him--good-night, kissing
him as she had never done before. The shock had brought out all that was
best and most womanly in her.

That box had an irresistible attraction for Frank. He could not but open
it, and on the top lay the white woolly, headless dog that had been
Mite's special darling, had been hugged by him in his slumbers every
night, and been the means of many a joyous game when father and mother
came up to wish the noisy creature good-night, and 'Tarlo' had been made
to bark at them.

Somehow the 'never more' overcame him completely. He had not before been
beyond the restraint of guarding his feelings for Mary's sake; and, tired
with the long day, and torn by the evening's narration, all his
self-command gave way, and he fell into a perfect anguish of deep-drawn,
almost hysterical sobbing.

[Picture: 'What?' and he threw the door wide open]

Those sobs were heard through the thin partition in Ida's room. They
were very terrible to her. They broke down the remnant of her excuse
that the child was an imposition. They woke all her woman's tenderness,
and the impulse to console carried her in a few moments to the door.

'Uncle! Uncle Frank!'

'I'm not ill,' answered a broken, heaving, impatient voice. 'I want
nothing.'

'Oh, let me in, dear uncle--I've something to tell you!'

'Not now,' came on the back of a sob. 'Go!'

'Oh, now, now!' and she even opened the door a little. 'He is not
drowned! At least, Rose Rollstone thinks--'

'What?' and he threw the door wide open.

'Rose Rollstone is sure she saw him with Louisa Hall in London that day,'
hurried out Ida, still bent on screening herself. 'She's gone to Canada.
It's there that Herbert is gone to find him a