e may arise to bless you."

"Never!" Jack answered, emphatically; then after a moment, as if his
thoughts had followed Grey's, he asked:

"Do you know how long Mrs. Meredith intends remaining in Rome, or where
she expects to go after leaving there?"

Grey replied that he did not, while a faint smile played round his
mouth, as he looked at his friend, who detected the smile, and
comprehending its meaning, said, with a heightened color:

"I know you are thinking of Flossie. Bessie thought of her, too, and
asked why I did not marry her. But that will never be, though, she is as
bright and beautiful an Irish lassie as ever gladdened the eyes of man
and the castle is so lonesome without her buzzing about and stirring up
things generally, that I have serious thoughts of inviting her
grandmother, to take up her abode there, so I can have Flossie back. The
servants adore her. But she will never be my wife. She would tire and
worry me to death with her restlessness and activity. When I lost Bessie
I lost everything, and have nothing left but her memory--not even a
flower which she has worn."

Grey hesitated a moment, then taking from his pocket the package which
Flossie had given him, he opened it, and holding to view the long silken
curl, said to Jack:

"Flossie cut this from Bessie's head when the fever was at its height,
and though there is not in the world gold enough to buy it from me, I
will divide with you," and parting it carefully he laid one-half of it
upon Jack's hand, around which it seemed to cling with a loving
tenacity. It was strange how vividly that wavy hair brought Bessie back
to the young men who had loved her so much, and who, at sight of it,
broke down entirely, and laying their heads upon the table, cried for a
moment, as only strong men can cry, for the dear little girl who, they
felt sure, was lying in her grave in far off Stoneleigh.

CHAPTER IV.

POOR DAISY.

Four weeks passed away, and Grey, with his Aunt Lucy, was journeying
through Russia, bearing with him a sense of loss and pain. The mails
were very irregular, and he had never heard a word either from Flossie
or Neil, nor had he written to them. He could not yet bring himself to
speak of Bessie, even upon paper, though he sometimes felt a little
aggrieved that Neil did not write to him and tell him of his loss. And
so the weeks went on, and one day, toward the middle of April, when the
English skies were at their best and the hy