af, but wholly dumb. He could express no more than the
possibilities of his nature. It was not the fine and essential
difference between man and woman, but that more fatal gulf in which
there would appear no certain glimpses of a royally endowed love in all
its spontaneity, its glow of feeling, its variation of rich emotions.
How would she, with her versatile, changeful soul, with its cycle of
moods, ever live in the strong, steady prison of his heart!

If he had thought perfect honor to his friend the greatest trial of his
life, what was this to be? He could not stay and see the slow, consuming
inward fire that would burn her soul to ashes while it was still in the
body. Thank God, he could go away, would go soon indeed, and never
return! He would nerve himself for these few days of torture.

Jack waited on the platform until the last moment. The bell was ringing
when Fred appeared, and the strong arm grasped him. They sat side by
side, but were silent after one question as to the nature of Miss
Barry's illness. Never had they been further divided in heart, for in
the days when there had been no semblance of friendship the trivial
repulsion was not to be compared to this wall of adamant. Fred would not
have gone at all but for his mother's sake, although his heart was with
Sylvie through every instant of her trial.

The house was very quiet when they reached it. Maverick came to meet
them, and was as sorely puzzled as Fred by the certain composure of
Darcy's face.

"It was not altogether unexpected by her or myself," Maverick explained
in answer to their inquiries. "It is the result of a complication of
disorders, some of long standing and incurable; and the present effect
is partial paralysis. I hoped change of air and a quiet summer would
delay what we knew must come before many years."

Darcy was astonished beyond measure. He would sooner have thought of his
own mother dying. True, he remembered now that Miss Barry had been about
less, and looked rather more delicate, and that through the summer she
had kept extremely quiet. So amazed was he, that at first he quite
forgot about Sylvie.

Fred Lawrence paced the floor in an agony. Would the man never ask the
question that was torturing him, because he had no right to ask it
first!

"How is my mother?" was his huskily tremulous inquiry, as he still went
up and down like a caged lion.

"The shock was really terrible to her. Mrs. Darcy was invaluable,"
bowing t