many days he kept his room, seeming to take little interest in
anything around him, except Bessie. At sight of her he always brightened
and made an effort to be cheerful and to talk, but nothing she could do
availed to arouse him from his state of apathy.

"All life and hope have gone out of me," he said to her one day, "and I
sometimes wonder what has become of that finefied swell I used to know
as Neil McPherson. I never felt this more, I think, than the day I
hesitated before paying my penny for a chair in the park because I did
not know as I could afford it. That was the time I saw Blanche go by in
her grand carriage, where I might have sat, I suppose; but I preferred
my hired chair, and sent no regret after her and her ten thousand a
year. I saw Jack, too, that day; did I tell you? He stumbled upon me,
and I think would have offered me money if he had dared. I am glad he
did not. He was staying in London, at Langham's, and Flossie was with
him. I did not see her, but he told me of her, and of his twin boys,
Jack and Giles, whom Flossie calls 'Jack and Gill.' Roguish little bears
he said they were, with all their mother's Irish in them, even to her
brogue. He has grown stout with years, and seemed very happy, as he
deserves to be. Everybody is happy, but myself; everybody of some use,
while I am a mere leech, a sponge, a nonenitity in everybody's way, and
I often wish I were dead. Nobody would miss me. Don't interrupt me,
please," he continued, as he saw Bessie about to speak. "Don't interrupt
me, and do not misunderstand me. I know you and Grey would be sorry just
at first, but you have each other, and you have your children. You could
not miss me long, or be sorry except for my wasted life. No, Bessie. I
would far rather die, and I think I shall."

This was Neil's state of mind, and nothing could rouse him from it until
one day in August when Miss Betsey drove over to Stoneleigh Cottage,
and went up to his room, where he sat as usual by the window looking out
upon the plateau, where Bessie's children were frolicking with their
nurse. Of late he had evinced some interest in the children, and once or
twice had had them in his room, and had held Baby Bessie on his knee and
kissed her fat hands, and the boy Neil, who saw everything, had said to
his mother, in speaking of it:

"He looked as if he wanted to cry, when sister patted his face and said
'I love oo,' and when I asked him if he didn't wish she was his baby,