he thought that the
news was certain to fill her friend with self-reproach; on other
accounts her feelings defied analysis.

Joyce was writing home-letters for the mail in her morning-room when
Honor was announced, and she was arrested, in her expressions of welcome
by the look on her visitor's face, which was unusually pale and her
great brown eyes, always so friendly and tender, cold and grave.

"What is it?" she asked fearfully, as she searched her memory for any
unconscious offence to her friend.

"I have just come from Mrs. Meek who is prostrated with grief. Elsie is
dead. She died at sunrise this morning."

"Dead?--Elsie Meek?... I did not know she was so bad!" Joyce looked
shocked and distressed.

"I left as Captain Dalton arrived--they are blaming him for not having
gone there last night. He was expected, but"--she made a gesture of
despair.

"Oh, Honor!--was it because he was here? He came to see if we were
ill--I had been nervous about Baby--and when I knew that it was nothing,
I kept him for music till--till quite late. Is it my fault?" The lovely
face looked stricken and blanched.

"I don't know--perhaps indirectly; but _he_ knew. He should not have
stayed."

"I persuaded him because I was dull--but I never knew!--I never dreamed
she was so bad! Oh, Honey!" and Joyce broke into a passion of tears. "I
shall never be happy again. I shall always feel that I was responsible!"

"He should never have stayed with you!--his duty was clear," said Honor
sternly. "The responsibility rests entirely with him. But didn't you
know that being alone and without your husband, you were inviting
criticism by allowing him to stay--at that late hour? People in these
_mafasil_ stations are so censorious."

"I did not think it mattered," said Joyce without a shadow of resentment
at such plain speaking. She stood with hands clasped, looking like a
child in trouble, and Honor's heart began to melt. "He's only the
doctor, you see, and he was so good to us in camp. Do you think I was
wrong, Honey?" flinging her arms about Honor's neck and hiding her face
in her bosom. Who could censure so much sweetness? So she was held in a
close embrace and tenderly kissed.

"I have no right to speak--forgive me," said Honor.

"But you are privileged, because I love you," said Joyce. "Say what you
please. I am so unhappy!--so miserable!"

"We must be miserable only for harm consciously done. You could never do
that."

"I could not