een a sniff and a sob; Mr.
Tucker's sniff was unmistakable.

"I will return your presents to-morrow," said Mr. Clark, rising.
"Good-by, forever!"

He paused at the door, but Mrs. Bowman did not look up. A second later
the front door closed and she heard him walk rapidly away.

For some time after his departure she preserved a silence which Mr.
Tucker endeavored in vain to break. He took a chair by her side, and at
the third attempt managed to gain possession of her hand.

"I deserved all he said," she cried, at last. "Poor fellow, I hope he
will do nothing desperate."

"No, no," said Mr. Tucker, soothingly.

"His eyes were quite wild," continued the widow. "If anything happens to
him I shall never forgive myself. I have spoilt his life."

Mr. Tucker pressed her hand and spoke of the well-known refining
influence a hopeless passion for a good woman had on a man. He cited his
own case as an example.

"Disappointment spoilt my life so far as worldly success goes," he said,
softly, "but no doubt the discipline was good for me."

Mrs. Bowman smiled faintly, and began to be a little comforted.
Conversation shifted from the future of Mr. Clark to the past of Mr.
Tucker; the widow's curiosity as to the extent of the latter's
worldly success remaining unanswered by reason of Mr. Tucker's sudden
remembrance of a bear-fight.

Their future was discussed after supper, and the advisability of leaving
Trimington considered at some length. The towns and villages of England
were at their disposal; Mr. Tucker's business, it appeared, being
independent of place. He drew a picture of life in a bungalow with
modern improvements at some seaside town, and, the cloth having been
removed, took out his pocket-book and, extracting an old envelope, drew
plans on the back.

It was a delightful pastime and made Mrs. Bowman feel that she was
twenty and beginning life again. She toyed with the pocket-book and
complimented Mr. Tucker on his skill as a draughtsman. A letter or two
fell out and she replaced them. Then a small newspaper cutting, which
had fluttered out with them, met her eye.

"A little veranda with roses climbing up it," murmured Mr. Tucker, still
drawing, "and a couple of--"

His pencil was arrested by an odd, gasping noise from the window. He
looked up and saw her sitting stiffly in her chair. Her face seemed
to have swollen and to be colored in patches; her eyes were round and
amazed.

"Aren't you well?" he inquired