r--the gods forbid! Serve
them in this Parliament, and in the meantime try to find another
borough."

It was his second letter from Mrs. Wade; the first had been a mere
note, asking if he could bear to hear from her, and if he would let her
know of his health. He replied rather formally, considering the terms
on which they stood; and, indeed, it did not gratify him much to be
assured of the widow's constant friendship.

CHAPTER XXVII

Something less than a year after his marriage, Glazzard was summoned
back to England by news of his brother's death. On the point of
quitting Highmead, with Ivy, for a sojourn abroad, William Glazzard had
an apoplectic seizure and died within the hour. His affairs were in
disorder; he left no will; for some time it would remain uncertain
whether the relatives inherited anything but debt.

Eustace and his wife took a house in the north of London, a modest
temporary abode. There, at the close of March, Serena gave birth to a
child.

During the past year Glazzard had returned to his old amusement of
modelling in clay. He drew and painted, played and composed, at
intervals; but plastic art seemed to have the strongest hold upon him.
Through April he was busy with a head for which he had made many
studies--a head of Judas; in Italy he had tried to paint the same
subject, but ineffectually. The face in its latest development seemed
to afford him some satisfaction.

One morning, early in May, Serena was sitting with him in the room he
used as a studio. Experience of life, and a certain measure of
happiness, had made the raw girl a very pleasing and energetic woman;
her face was comely, her manner refined, she spoke softly and
thoughtfully, but with spirit.

"It is wonderful," she said, after gazing long, with knitted brows, at
the Judas, "but horrible. I wish it hadn't taken hold of you so."

"Taken hold of me? I care very little about it."

"Oh, nonsense! That's your worst fault, Eustace. You seem ashamed of
being in earnest. I wish you had found a pleasanter subject, but I am
delighted to see you _do_ something. Is it quite finished?"

A servant appeared at the door.

"Mr. Quarrier wishes to see you, sir."

Denzil entered, and had a friendly greeting. The Glazzards did not see
much of him, for he was over head and ears in politics, social
questions, philanthropic undertakings--these last in memory of Lilian,
whose spirit had wrought strongly in him since her death. He lo