hem on Joyce. "Sunshine," he said, with a faint
smile. "Dear child."

"Dearest father, dear father!"

"I hope my little girl will be named after my mother, _Joyce_. Yes, it
is an old-world name, but I fancy it; name her Joyce."

The sound of his master's voice roused Duke, who pricked his ears and
came to the bedside. Mrs. Falconer also started and awoke.

"There is a word I cannot catch, about the _Life_. Try to think of it. I
can't."

Joyce glanced at her mother.

"What does he mean?" she said, helplessly. "Oh! what does he want?"

"The Life; I am the Life." The words came with difficulty now.

Then Piers, starting up, said:

"I know. I think I know. 'Jesus said, I am the resurrection and the
_Life_.'"

A smile of infinite content came over the father's face.

"_Yes_," he said. "Yes, the Life."

Presently he murmured Melville's name, and those of the children who had
gone before.

"The little girls all died but _one_," he said. "One is left--Sunshine."

They knelt down as in the presence of something unseen but near; for the
shadows gathered on the fine face of the husband and father; and Piers
repeated for the second time:

"Jesus said, I am the resurrection and the Life!"

As if with a great effort to repeat the words, the squire said, faintly,
"Jesus said,"--then silence fell; and the next thing Joyce knew was
that she was lying in her own little bed, and that she was fatherless.

* * * * *

The news of the squire's death spread quickly through the whole
district. As is often the case, no one knew how much he had been
respected till he was gone. Then there were terrible circumstances
connected with his death, which, apart from his loss, troubled the
magistrates who had sat with him on the bench, and had probably made
enemies, as he had done, in the performance of their duty.

The roads across the Mendip were avoided more than ever, and as time
went on and nothing was heard of or discovered about the man who had
thrown the missile which had caused Mr. Falconer's death; if the wonder
faded out, the fear remained; the county constabulary were, truth to
tell, afraid of their own lives, and there was no machinery of
detectives at work then, as now. However, whatever search was made it
was fruitless, and the offender had escaped beyond the reach of
punishment.

As with a sudden transition into a new state of existence, Joyce found
herself the central figure to whom