hom he had wronged. There was time to make
some atonement; to work out some redemption for his fellow-men. To
Roland Sefton had arisen a vision of a public and honorable career,
cheered on by applause of men and crowned with popularity and renown for
all he might achieve. But Jean Merle must toil in silence and
difficulty, amid rebuffs and discouragements, and do humble service
which would remain unrecognized and unthanked. Yet there was work to do,
if it were no more than cheering the last days of an old man, or
teaching a class of the most ignorant of his townsfolk in a night
school. He rose from his knees after a while, and left the room,
closing the door as softly as he had been used to do when afraid of any
noise grating on his wife's sensitive brain. It seemed to him like the
closing up of the vault where she was buried. She was gone from him
forever, and there was nothing left but to forget the past if that were
possible.

As he went lingeringly down the staircase, which would henceforth be
trodden seldom if ever by him, he heard the ringing of the house-bell,
which announced the return of Mr. Clifford and of Felix and Hilda, who
were coming to stay the night in their old home, before returning to
London on the morrow. He hastened down to open the door and help them to
alight from their carriage. It was the first time he had been thus
brought into close contact with them; but this must happen often in the
future, and he must learn to meet them as strangers, and to be looked
upon by them as little more than a hired servant.

But the sight of Hilda's sad young face, so pale and tear-stained, and
the expression of deep grief that Felix wore, tried him sorely. What
would he not have given to be able to take this girl into his arms and
soothe her, and to comfort his son with comfort none but a father can
give? He stood outside the sphere of their sorrows, looking on them with
the eyes of a stranger; and the pain of seeing them so near yet so far
away from him was unutterable. The time might come when Jean Merle could
see them, and talk with them calmly as a friend, ready to serve them to
the utmost of his power; when there might be something of pleasure in
gaining their friendship and confidence. But so long as they were
mourning bitterly for their mother and could not conceal the sharpness
of their grief, the sight of them was a torture to him. It was a relief
to him and to Mr. Clifford when they left Riversborough