ad to be cancelled. He dined out very seldom, and I
remember that on the last occasion he attended a very large dinner party
the effort was too much for him, and before the gentlemen returned to the
drawing-room, he sent me a message begging me to come to him at once,
saying that he was in too great pain to mount the stairs. No one who had
watched him throughout the dinner, seeing his bright, animated face, and
listening to his cheery conversation, could have imagined him to be
suffering acute pain.

He was at "Gad's Hill" again by the thirtieth of May, and soon hard at
work upon "Edwin Drood." Although happy and contented, there was an
appearance of fatigue and weariness about him very unlike his usual air
of fresh activity. He was out with the dogs for the last time on the
afternoon of the sixth of June, when he walked into Rochester for the
"Daily Mail." My sister, who had come to see the latest "improvement,"
was visiting us, and was to take me with her to London on her return, for
a short visit. The conservatory--the "improvement" which Katie had been
summoned to inspect--had been stocked, and by this time many of the
plants were in full blossom. Everything was at its brightest and I
remember distinctly my father's pleasure in showing my sister the
beauties of his "improvement."

We had been having most lovely weather, and in consequence, the outdoor
plants were wonderfully forward in their bloom, my father's favorite red
geraniums making a blaze of color in the front garden. The syringa
shrubs filled the evening air with sweetest fragrance as we sat in the
porch and walked about the garden on this last Sunday of our dear
father's life. My aunt and I retired early and my dear sister sat for a
long while with my father while he spoke to her most earnestly of his
affairs.

As I have already said my father had such an intense dislike for
leave-taking that he always, when it was possible, shirked a farewell,
and we children, knowing this dislike, used only to wave our hands or
give him a silent kiss when parting. But on this Monday morning, the
seventh, just as we were about to start for London, my sister suddenly
said: "I _must_ say good-bye to papa," and hurried over to the chalet
where he was busily writing. As a rule when he was so occupied, my
father would hold up his cheek to be kissed, but this day he took my
sister in his arms saying: "God bless you, Katie," and there, "among the
branches of the t