shawl
around her as deftly as a woman could have done, he made her taste the
wine, and dipping her handkerchief in the cologne bathed her forehead
with it and pushed back a few locks of her wavy hair, which had fallen
over her face. And all the time he did not speak until Bessie said to
him:

"Thank you, Mr. Jerrold. You are so kind. I am glad you are here. What
should I do without you, and what shall I do anyway? What must I do?"

"Leave it all to me," he answered her. "Don't give the matter a thought,
but try and rest; and when you feel that you can, I will take you back
to the house."

"No, no," she said quickly. "Let me stay here in the sunshine with the
birds who used to sing to him. It seems as if he were here with me."

So he brought her a pillow for her head, and a hassock for her feet, and
wrapped her shawl more closely around her, and made her taste the wine
again. Then he went back to the house and consulted Anthony and Dorothy
with regard to what was to be done. The funeral was fixed for the fourth
day, and Grey telegraphed to London, with instructions, that if the
family were not in town the message should be forwarded to them
immediately. Then he cabled to Daisy, ship Celtic, New York, and lest by
any chance she should miss the news at the wharf he asked that a
dispatch be sent to her at Allington, Mass., care of Mrs.
Rossiter-Browne, who, he knew, would in all probability go at once to
her country home.

"Mrs. McPherson can return or remain where she is. I have done my duty
to her," he thought, as he busied himself with the many details it was
necessary to see to. "If Neil were only here," was his constant thought,
as the day wore on, and he found himself in the rather awkward position
of master of ceremonies in a strange house, deferred to and advised with
not only by Anthony and Dorothy, but by all the people who came to
assist.

But Neil did not come, and the night came and went, and it was morning
again, and Bessie, who had passed the most of the preceding day in the
garden, and had only returned to the house late in the afternoon, seemed
a little brighter and fresher, with a look of expectancy in her face
whenever a train dashed by. She was watching for Neil, and when at about
four o'clock a carriage came through the park gates, she rose and went
swiftly to the door, meeting not Neil, but Jack Trevellian, whose face
and manner told plainly how great was his sympathy with the desolate
young gi