d;
there seemed no way from amid the ruins. She had no strong religious
faith; a wail in the darkness was all the expression her heart could
attain to; in the present anguish she could not turn her thoughts to
that far vision of a life hereafter. All day she had striven to realise
that a box of wood contained all that was left of her sister. The
voice of the clergyman struck her ear with meaningless monotony. Not
immortality did she ask for, but one more whisper from the lips that
could not speak, one throb of the heart she had striven so despairingly
to warm against her own.

Kate was plucking at her arm, for the service was over, and
unconsciously she was impeding people who wished to pass from the seats.
With difficulty she rose and walked; the cold seemed to have checked
the flow of her blood; she noticed the breath rising from her mouth,
and wondered that she could have so much whilst those dear lips were
breathless. Then she was being led over hard snow, towards a place where
men stood, where there was new-turned earth, where a coffin lay upon the
ground. She suffered the sound of more words which she could not follow,
then heard the dull falling of clods upon hollow wood. A hand seemed to
clutch her throat, she struggled convulsively and cried aloud. But the
tears would not come.

No memory of the return home dwelt afterwards in her mind. The white
earth, the headstones sprinkled with snow, the vast grey sky over
which darkness was already creeping, the wind and the clergyman's voice
joining in woful chant, these alone remained with her to mark the day.
Between it and the days which then commenced lay formless void.

On Tuesday morning Alice Mutimer came to the house. Mrs. Clay chanced
to be from home; Emma received the visitor and led her down into the
kitchen.

'I am glad you have come,' she said; 'I wanted to see you to-day.'

'Are you feeling better?' Alice asked. She tried in vain to speak
with the friendliness of past days; that could never be restored. Her
advantages of person and dress were no help against the embarrassment
caused in her by the simple dignity of the wronged and sorrowing girl.

Emma replied that she was better, then asked:

'Have you come only to see me; or for something else?'

'I wanted to know how you were; but I've brought you something as well'

She took an envelope from within her muff. Emma shook her head.

'No, nothing more,' she said, in a tone removed alike from resen