or a few weeks, but it was impossible
to say whether he would ever recover full consciousness again.

Erle heard them sadly; he had been very fond of the old man in spite
of the tyrannical sway that had ruled him from boyhood. His uncle had
been his generous benefactor, and he could not hear of his danger
without emotion.

Mrs. Trafford had not left the house from the moment of her father's
alarming seizure; she had taken quiet possession of the sick-room, and
had only left it to follow her boy to the grave. Fern was there too,
but Erle did not speak to her; the crape veil hid her face, and he
could only see the gleam of her fair hair shining in the wintery
sunlight. The two women had stood together, Fern holding her mother's
hand; and when the service was over, Mrs. Trafford had gone back to
Belgrave House, and some kindly neighbor had taken the girl home. Erle
would gladly have spoken some word of sympathy, but Mrs. Trafford gave
him no opportunity. Neither of them knew how sadly and wistfully the
poor girl looked after them. Erle's changed looks, his paleness and
depression made Fern's heart still heavier; she had not known that he
had loved Percy so. She had no idea that it was the sight of her own
slim young figure moving between the graves that made Erle look so
sad. She was dearer to him than ever, he told himself, as they drove
away from the cemetery; and he hated himself as he said it.

He had not seen Evelyn since Percy's death. She was staying at some
country house with her aunt, Lady Maltravers, where he was to have
joined them; but of course this was impossible under the
circumstances; and though he did not like to own to himself that her
absence was a relief, he took the opportunity of begging her not to
hurry back to London on his account, as his time was so fully occupied
with necessary business and watching his poor uncle that he would not
be free to come to her.

Evelyn sighed as she read the letter; it sounded a little cold to her.
If she were in Erle's place she would have wanted him to come at once.
Was it not her right, as his promised wife, to be beside him and try
to comfort him? How could she have the heart for these hollow
gayeties, knowing that he was sad and troubled? If it had been left to
her, she would not have postponed their marriage; she would have gone
to church quietly with him, and then have returned with him to
Belgrave House to nurse the invalid; but her aunt had seemed shocked