oved her
mother well--passing well--you, and Bentley, and I."

"Aye," says I, "we did."

"This was the first great sorrow of my life--that by my happiness you
two were rendered desolate," says he, laying his hand upon my shoulder.

"No, no," says I.

"Yes," says he, "think you I have been so blind, Dick?"

"You were her choice," says I.

"True, I was her choice," he repeated, "and methinks it came nigh
breaking both your hearts, yet you were my friends still--the old bonds
were too strong for self to break them."

"'T were a poor friendship else," says I.

"And now, Dick," says he, with his eyes on the cornice again, "there is
Pen," and I saw his lips quiver slightly.

"Aye," I nodded, "there's Pen--our Pen."

I felt his fingers tighten on my shoulder, but he was silent.

"When I go out to-day," says he at last, and stopped.

"When I go out to-day--" he began once more, and stopped again; then,
with a sudden gesture, he thrust the miniature into my hand. "You and
Bentley!" says he, and turned to the papers that littered the table.
"You understand?" says he, over his shoulder.

"Yes," says I, from the window, gazing across the bleak, grey desolation
of the park. "Yes, I understand."

"I've been setting my papers in order, Dick,--a hard business," says he,
with a rueful shake of the head, "a hard business, Dick--and now I'm
minded to write a few lines to her, and that methinks will be harder
yet." And passing his hand wearily over his brow, he took up his pen.

"Oh Jack--Jack," says I, suddenly, "there may be hope yet--"

"None," says he, quietly; "I was ever a fool with the small-sword, as
you will remember, Dick. But I do not repine--you and Bentley are left."

So I presently went up-stairs again, and this time I did not pass
Bentley's door, but entering, found him already nearly dressed, and as I
live!--a-whistling of his eternal "Lillibuleero."

"Bentley," says I, sharply, "you surely forget what day it is?"

"No," says he, reaching out his hand with a smile. "A Merry Christmas,
Dick!"

But seeing my look, and how I shrank from his proffered hand, his face
grew solemn all in a moment.

"Good God, man!" I cried, "cannot you understand!" and with the words, I
held up the miniature before his eyes. "From to-day she is in our care
alone--her mother died twenty years ago--and to-day--poor Jack--oh, damn
your Merry Christmas!--are you so utterly heartless and without feeling,
or only a blind fool?"