ange and sad that she should be still in ignorance of his loss and
hers! In the early morning after Marie's death, when he woke up from a
few heavy hours of sleep, his mind had been full of her. How was the news
to be broken to her? He himself did not feel that he could leave his
brother-in-law. There was a strong regard and sympathy between them; and
his presence in the house of mourning would undoubtedly be useful to Paul
for a while; besides, there were Marie's words--'Will you stay with him a
few days--after--?'--which were binding on him. He must write, then; but
it was only to be hoped that no newspaper would bring her the news before
his letter could reach.

However, as the day wore on, Paul came noiselessly out of the quiet room
where the white shrouded form seemed still to spread a tender presence
round it, and said to Eustace with dry, piteous lips:

'I have remembered Miss Bretherton; you must go to her to-morrow,
after--the funeral'

'I can't bear the thought of leaving you,' said Kendal, laying a
brotherly hand on his shoulder, 'Let me write to-day.'

Paul shook his head. 'She has been ill. Any way it will be a great shock;
but if you go it will be better.'

Kendal resisted a little more, but it seemed as if Marie's motherly
carefulness over the bright creature who had charmed her had passed into
Paul. He was saying what Marie would have said, taking thought as she
would have taken it for one she loved, and it was settled as he wished.

When his long pacing in the Champs Elysees was over Kendal went back to
find Paul busy with his wife's letters and trinkets, turning them over
With a look of shivering forlornness, as though the thought of the
uncompanioned lifetime to come were already closing upon him like some
deadly chill in the air. Beside him lay two miniature cases open; one of
them was the case which Eustace had received from his sister's hand on
the afternoon before her death, and both of them contained identical
portraits of Marie in her first brilliant womanhood.

'Do you remember them?' Paul said in his husky Voice, pointing them
out to him. 'They were done when you were at college and she was
twenty-three. Your mother had two taken--one for herself and one for your
old aunt Marion. Your mother left me hers when she died, and your aunt's
copy of it came back to us last year. Tell Miss Bretherton its history.
She will prize it. It is the best picture still.'

Kendal made a sign of assent a