sad.

"He was my friend," he said, in a low voice, "my intimate friend for
many years--a fine fellow, and brave as a lion. Many, many nights we
have lain with the stars of India shining on our bivouac whilst he
talked to me of you, of England, of his daughter."

Lady Thetford never spoke, never stirred. She was sitting, gazing
steadfastly out of the window at the sparkling sunshine, and Colonel
Jocyln could not see her face.

"He was as glorious a soldier as ever I knew," the colonel went on; "and
he died a soldier's death--shot through the heart. They buried him out
there with military honors, and some of his men cried on his grave like
children."

There was another blank pause. Still Lady Thetford sat with that fixed
gaze on the brilliant May sunshine, moveless as stone.

"It is a sad thing for his poor little girl," the Indian officer said;
"she is fortunate in having such a guardian as you, Lady Thetford."

Lady Thetford awoke with a start. She had been in a trance; the years
had slipped backward, and she had been in her far-off girlhood's home
with George Everard, her handsome, impetuous lover, by her side. She had
loved him, then, even when she said no, and married another; she loved
him still, and now he was dead--dead! But she turned to her visitor with
a face that told nothing.

"I am so sorry--so very, very sorry. My poor little May! Did Captain
Everard speak of her, of me, before he died?"

"He died instantaneously, Lady Thetford. There was no time."

"Ah, no! poor fellow! It is the fortune of war--but it is very sad."

That was all; we may feel inexpressibly, but we can only utter
commonplaces. Lady Thetford was very, very pale, but her pallor told
nothing of the dreary pain at her heart.

"Would you not like to see little May? I will send for her."

Little May was sent for, and came. A brilliant little fairy as ever,
brightly dressed, with shimmering golden curls, and starry eyes. By her
side stood Sir Rupert--the nine-year-old baronet, growing tall very
fast, pale and slender still, and looking at the colonel with his
mother's dark, deep eyes.

Col. Jocyln held out his hand to the flaxen-haired fairy.

"Come here, little May, and kiss papa's friend. You remember papa, don't
you?"

"Yes," said May, sitting on his knee contentedly. "Oh, yes. When is papa
coming home? He said in mamma's letter he would fetch me lots and lots
of dolls, and picture-books. Is he coming home soon?"

"Not ver