eeled round and stood with his face
to the window; the lady shrank back into her chair, then suddenly jumped
up and ran forward with outstretched hands. It was Mrs Nisbet, though
looking older and more worn than Sylvia had expected to see her, and
nothing could have been kinder or more affectionate than her greeting.

"My dear child--my poor dear child, how tired you must be! You have had
an awful journey. Come in, dear, and rest a few minutes while I will
make some tea for you. English people always like tea, don't they? And
I will make it myself, so that it shall be good. Come, dear, sit down!
Let me take off your hat."

She stroked the girl's cheek with her hand--such a hot, trembling hand--
and there was an odd, excited thrill in her voice which filled Sylvia
with a vague alarm. She stepped back a step, and drew herself up
straight and determined.

"Thank you very much, but I don't want any tea. I want to go at once to
father. It has been such a long, long journey. I mustn't waste any
more time!"

"No, no, but you are not ready just this moment. You must have
something to strengthen you first. If you won't wait for tea, here is
some wine. Drink a glass, dear, do. To please me!"

Sylvia stared at her fixedly, and from her to that other figure which
stood motionless by the window without so much as a glance for his
friend's child. A cold fear seized her in its grip, the room swam
before her eyes, and out of the confusion she heard a weak voice saying
brokenly, "Tell me quickly, please! It won't help me to drink wine.
Father--"

Mrs Nisbet burst into a passion of tears, and clasped the girl tightly
in her arms.

"You are too late, dear. An hour too late! We did everything we could.
He left you his last love and blessing."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was all over. The two long days of waiting, the last glimpse of
dad's still face, the funeral in the foreign cemetery, and Sylvia sat
alone in the hotel sitting-room, striving to recover sufficiently from
the shock to decide on the next step which lay before her.

In the crushing weight of the new sorrow it seemed as if it were
impossible to go on living at all, yet it was absolutely necessary to
make her plans, for she could not be an indefinite burden on her
father's friends. They had come home to enjoy a hard-earned rest, and
as the holiday had begun so sadly there was all the more reason w