less and touched with the universal feeling of hush. The
begonias and dahlias and flaming autumn flowers in the broad border
below the southern terrace wall had lost half their colour in the grey
afternoon, and a robin alighted softly on the window-sill and, putting
his head on one side, looked into the library at the pair sitting on
the sofa.

Neither had spoken for a time. To-morrow there would probably be
lawyers to see and the funeral to arrange for, and a hundred things to
do; but to-day there was a lull in which time itself seemed to have
stood still. Years had passed since this morning, and yet the clocks
marked only a few hours on their dials. Mrs. Ogilvie had died at
twelve o'clock, and the very flowers which she had placed by her table
still bloomed freshly, and a book she had been reading lay open where
she had left it.

Yet it seemed a lifetime since she had died.

During the interminable afternoon, and in the stillness of the big
library, with its ordered rows of books and solemn-looking, carved
cupboards, Peter and Jane Erskine sat together feeling oppressively
this great lapse of time that had passed. Their understanding of one
another had always been a strong bond between them; and now they felt
not like the lovers of yesterday, but like those whose lives have been
linked for years, and for whom loyalty and faith have grown deeper and
stronger as troubles and storms came. They looked across to the ruined
tower, where not very long ago, as we count time, they had told their
love to each other; and, so looking, had drawn closer by their common
sorrow. It seemed to them, in the hush of the library, that this time
of grief and dependence had something arresting in it. Life had not
demanded very much of them so far. To-day there was a strange sense
that its demands, perhaps even for them, would not always be small.

The doctor and the lawyer summoned Peter presently, and afterwards he
and Jane were told particulars of Mrs. Ogilvie's fatal illness.

'But she must have suffered--she must have suffered so!' said Jane,
with all the resentfulness that youth feels towards pain. 'Why did she
tell none of us? Why did none of us know?'

'I ought to have guessed something,' said Peter miserably. 'I must
have been a fool not to see that something was wrong.' And together
they wondered what would have happened if this had been done or that,
and were inclined to reproach themselves for much in which the