ife so; I was never meant to be rich. It seems unkind of him, but in a
little time we shall see it was best. Only you, Janey; you have my
whole heart, and I'm so glad to feel it is so. Live, and I'll give every
minute of my life to loving you, poor sufferer.'

Jane could not breathe sound into the words she would have spoken. She
lay with her eyes watching the fire-play on the ceiling. Her respiration
was quick and feeble.

Mutimer's name was not mentioned by either again that night, by one of
them never again. Such silence was his punishment.

Kate entered the room a little before midnight. She saw one of Jane's
hands raised to impose silence. Emma, still sitting by the bedside,
slept; her head rested on the pillows. The sick had become the watcher.

'She'd better go to bed,' Kate whispered. 'I'll wake her.'

'No, no You needn't stay, Kate. I don't want anything. Let her sleep as
she is.'

The elder sister left the room. Then Jane approached her head to that of
the sleeper, softly, softly, and her arm stole across Emma's bosom and
rested on her farther shoulder. The fire burned with little whispering
tongues of flame; the circles of light and shade quivered above the
lamp. Abroad the snow fell and froze upon the ground.

Three days later Alice Mutimer, as she sat at breakfast, was told that
a visitor named Mrs. Clay desired to see her. It was nearly ten o'clock;
Alice had no passion for early rising, and since her mother's retirement
from the common table she breakfasted alone at any hour which seemed
good to her. 'Arry always--or nearly always--left the house at eight
o'clock.

Mrs. Clay was introduced into the dining-room. Alice received her with
an anxious face, for she was anticipating trouble from the house in
Wilton Square. But the trouble was other than she had in mind.

'Jane died at four o'clock this morning,' the visitor began, without
agitation, in the quick, unsympathetic voice which she always used when
her equanimity was in any way disturbed. 'Emma hasn't closed her eyes
for two days and nights, and now I shouldn't wonder if she's going to be
ill herself. I made her lie down, and then came out just to ask you to
write to your brother. Surely he'll come now. I don't know what to do
about the burying; we ought to have some one to help us. I expected your
mother would be coming to see us, but she's kept away all at once. Will
you write to Dick?'

Alice was concerned to perceive that Kate was still