e in 1862 my brother Maurice was born, to the
delight of his parents, as he was destined to be the delight of all who
knew him."

The voice quickened, and the tone became conclusive rising slightly in
pitch, as if these words were at the end of the chapter. Hewet drew
back again into the shadow. There was a long silence. He could just
hear chairs being moved inside. He had almost decided to go back, when
suddenly two figures appeared at the window, not six feet from him.

"It was Maurice Fielding, of course, that your mother was engaged to,"
said Helen's voice. She spoke reflectively, looking out into the dark
garden, and thinking evidently as much of the look of the night as of
what she was saying.

"Mother?" said Rachel. Hewet's heart leapt, and he noticed the fact. Her
voice, though low, was full of surprise.

"You didn't know that?" said Helen.

"I never knew there'd been any one else," said Rachel. She was clearly
surprised, but all they said was said low and inexpressively, because
they were speaking out into the cool dark night.

"More people were in love with her than with any one I've ever known,"
Helen stated. "She had that power--she enjoyed things. She wasn't
beautiful, but--I was thinking of her last night at the dance. She
got on with every kind of person, and then she made it all so
amazingly--funny."

It appeared that Helen was going back into the past, choosing her words
deliberately, comparing Theresa with the people she had known since
Theresa died.

"I don't know how she did it," she continued, and ceased, and there was
a long pause, in which a little owl called first here, then there, as it
moved from tree to tree in the garden.

"That's so like Aunt Lucy and Aunt Katie," said Rachel at last. "They
always make out that she was very sad and very good."

"Then why, for goodness' sake, did they do nothing but criticize her
when she was alive?" said Helen. Very gentle their voices sounded, as if
they fell through the waves of the sea.

"If I were to die to-morrow . . ." she began.

The broken sentences had an extraordinary beauty and detachment in
Hewet's ears, and a kind of mystery too, as though they were spoken by
people in their sleep.

"No, Rachel," Helen's voice continued, "I'm not going to walk in the
garden; it's damp--it's sure to be damp; besides, I see at least a dozen
toads."

"Toads? Those are stones, Helen. Come out. It's nicer out. The flowers
smell," Rachel replied.