to me a trifle. Don't you remember how I
spoke of it when you came here the other morning?--I can't understand
myself. How could I think so, speak so!'

The listener said nothing.

'He did what he purposed--made a bargain, and came back to conclude the
purchase by correspondence. But his money--the small capital he counted
upon--was in "Britannia" shares; and you know what happened
yesterday--yesterday, the very day when he went to sell the shares,
thinking to do so without the least difficulty.'

Harvey gave a grim nod.

'He came home, and I showed that I was glad----'

'No! You accuse yourself unreasonably.'

'I tell you the truth, as my miserable conscience knows it. I was crazy
with selfishness and conceit. Rightly, he left me to my cowardly
temper, and went out again, and was away for a long time. He came back
to dinner, and then the suffering in his face all but taught me what I
was doing. I wanted to ask him to forgive me--to comfort him for his
loss; but pride kept me from it. I couldn't speak--I couldn't! After
dinner he said he had a lot of work to do, and came into this room. At
ten o'clock I sent him coffee. I wished to take it myself--O God! if
only I had done so! I _wished_ to take it, and speak to him, but still
I couldn't. And I knew he was in torture; I saw at dinner that pain was
racking him. But I kept away, and went to my own bed, and slept--whilst
he was lying here.'

A rush of tears relieved her. Harvey felt his own eyes grow moist.

'It was only that he felt so worn out,' she pursued. 'I know how it
was. The pain grew intolerable, and he went upstairs for his draught,
and then--not having finished his work--he thought he would lie down on
the sofa for a little; and so sleep overcame him. He never meant
_this_. If I thought it, I couldn't live!'

'Undoubtedly you are right,' said Harvey, summoning an accent of
conviction. 'I knew him very well, and he was not the man to do that.'

'No? You are sure of it? You feel it impossible, Mr. Rolfe?'

'Quite impossible. There are men--oh, you may assure yourself that it
was pure accident. Unfortunately, it happens so often.'

She hung on his words, leaning towards him, her eyes wide and lips
parted.

'So often! I have seen so many cases, in the papers. And he was
absent-minded. But what right have I to seek comfort for myself? Was I
any less the cause of his death? But must I tell all this in public? Do
you think I ought to?'

With comfort