d to see.

"Martin," she said, "Rose is not coming home."

Martin Cosgrave gripped the door of the waiting-room. The train whistled
outside and glided from the station. He heard a woman's cheerful voice
cry out a conventional "good-bye, good-bye," and through the window he
saw the flutter of a dainty handkerchief. A truck was wheeled past the
waiting-room. There was the crack of a whip and some cars rattled away
over the road. Then there was silence.

Sheela Dempsey walked over to him and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
When she spoke her voice was full of an understanding womanly sympathy.

"Don't be troubling over it, Martin," she said, "Rose is not worth it."
She spoke her sister's name with some bitterness.

Vaguely Martin Cosgrave looked into the girl's eyes. He read there in a
dim way what the girl could not say of her sister.

It was all so strange! The waiting-room was so bare, so cold, so grey,
so like a sepulchre. What could Sheela Dempsey with all her womanly
understanding, with all her quick intuition, know of the things that
happened beside her? How could she have ears for the crashing down of
the pillars of the building that Martin Cosgrave had raised up in his
soul? How could she have eyes for the wreck of the structure that was to
go on through all the generations? What thought had she of the wiping
out of a name that would have lived in the nation and continued for all
time in the eternities, a tangible thing in Heaven among the Immortals
when the stars had all been burned out in the sky?

Martin Cosgrave drove home from the railway station with Sheela Dempsey.
He sat without a word, not really conscious of his surroundings as they
covered the miles. The girl reached across the side-car, touching him
lightly on the shoulder.

"Look!" she exclaimed.

Martin Cosgrave looked up. The building stood in the moonlight on the
crest of the hill. He bade the driver pull up, and then got down from
the car.

"Who owns the house?" Sheela Dempsey asked.

"I do. I put it up on the hill for Rose."

There was silence for some time.

"How did you get it built, Martin?" Sheela Dempsey asked, awe in her
tone.

"I built it myself," he answered. "I wonder has Rose as good a place?
What sort of a building is she in to-night?"

Martin Cosgrave did not notice the sudden quiver in the girl's body as
he put the question. But she made no reply, and the car drove on,
leaving Martin Cosgrave standing alone at the g