--to go and lie down; he has
neither eaten nor slept since his mother died. O, Aileen! I am so sorry
for you!"

"Hush!" raising one tremulous hand and turning away; "she was as dear
to me as my own mother could have been. Don't think of me."

"Shall we not see Sir Rupert?" the colonel asked. "I should like to,
particularly."

"I think not--unless you remain for some hours. He is completely worn
out, poor fellow."

"How comes that young man here, Miss Everard?" nodding in the direction
of Mr. Legard, who had withdrawn to a remote corner. "He may be a very
especial friend of Sir Rupert, but don't you think he presumes on that
friendship?"

Miss Everard's eyes flashed angrily.

"No, sir! I think nothing of the sort. Mr. Legard has a perfect right to
be in this room, or any other room at Thetford Towers. It is by Rupert's
particular request he remains."

The colonel frowned again, and turned his back upon the speaker.

"Aileen," he said, haughtily, "as Sir Rupert is not visible, nor likely
to be for some time, perhaps you had better not linger. To-morrow, after
the funeral, I shall speak to him very seriously."

Miss Jocyln arose. She would rather have lingered, but she saw her
father's annoyed face, and obeyed him immediately. She bent and kissed
the cold, white face, awful with the dread majesty of death.

"For the last time, my friend, my mother," she murmured, "until we meet
in heaven."

She drew her veil over her face to hide her falling tears, and silently
followed the stern and displeased Indian officer down stairs, and out of
the house. She looked back wistfully once at the gray, old ivy-grown
facade; but who was to tell her of the weary, weary months and years
that would pass before she crossed that stately threshold again.

It was a very grand and imposing ceremonial that burial of Lady
Thetford; and side by side with the heir, clad in deepest mourning,
walked the unknown painter, Guy Legard. Colonel Jocyln was not the only
friend of the family shocked and scandalized on this occasion. What
could Sir Rupert mean? And what did Mr. Legard mean by looking ten times
more like the old Thetford race than Sir Noel's own son and heir?

It was a miserable day, this day of the funeral, with a low complaining
wind sighing through the yew-trees, and a dark, slanting rain lashing
the sodden earth. There was a sky of lead hanging low like a pall; and
it was almost dark, in the rainy gloaming, when Colonel Jocyln