urther down the corridor
I could hear Bentley snoring, and the sound, rising and falling in the
quietude with wearisome monotony, irritated my fractious nerves to that
degree that I was of half a mind to go and wake him. Since Penelope had
left for London, two days before, he and I had been staying with Jack at
the Manor. And very silent the great place had seemed without her; Jack
had been more fretful than usual, and more than once I had thrown down
my cards in a huff, for cards, after all, were a very sorry substitute
for our lovely, laughing Pen. Hereupon I must needs fall to thinking of
her mother (as indeed I oft do of late)--dead now these twenty years and
more. But what are years after all to one who has loved as I? And from
the broken threads of my life that was, I began to weave a life of the
"might have been"--a fuller, richer life, perfected by love, and a
woman's sweet companionship--so very different to the lonely life that
was mine. Well, she had decreed otherwise,--and now--now she was
dead--and I an old man, and lonely. But Jack had loved her passing well,
and he was lonely too--and Bentley likewise--Bentley, who was snoring
like a grampus. I rose, and slipping on some clothes, stepped out into
the corridor. But with my hand upon the latch of his bedroom door I
stopped, and changing my mind, went down the stairs to the library. To
my surprise the candles were still burning, and through the open door I
saw Jack sprawled across the table, his face buried in his hands, and
beside him Penelope's miniature. Now as I stood there hesitating, I saw
his shoulders heaving very strangely, wherefore, turning about, I began
to creep softly up the stairs again, lest he should find himself
discovered. Half-way up, however, I heard the scrape of his chair as he
rose, and a moment after the sound of his step, firm and resolute as
ever, noting which I turned and came down again, coughing very naturally
as I reached the last stair.

"Ah, Dick!" says he, as he turned and saw me, "A Merry Christmas to
thee."

Now it had ever been our custom, since he and I and Bentley were lads
together at Charterhouse, at this so happy season to greet each other
thus, but for once I found the words to stick most woefully, and for no
reason in the world my eyes wandered from his face to the miniature upon
the table, seeing which he picked it up--yet kept it covered in his
hand.

"Dick," says he, staring up at the cornice very hard, "we l