. It was very still. Ursula lay
calmly asleep, with baby Maud in her bosom; on her other side, with
eyes wide open to the daylight, lay--that which for more than ten years
we had been used to call "blind Muriel." She saw, now.

* * * * *

The same day at evening we three were sitting in the parlour; we elders
only--it was past the children's bed-time. Grief had spent itself dry;
we were all very quiet. Even Ursula, when she came in from fetching
the boys' candle, as had always been her custom, and though afterwards
I thought I had heard her going up-stairs, likewise from habit,--where
there was no need to bid any mother's good-night now--even Ursula sat
in the rocking-chair, nursing Maud, and trying to still her crying with
a little foolish baby-tune that had descended as a family lullaby from
one to the other of the whole five--how sad it sounded!

John--who sat at the table, shading the light from his eyes, an open
book lying before him, of which he never turned one page--looked up at
her.

"Love, you must not tire yourself. Give me the child."

"No, no! Let me keep my baby--she comforts me so." And the mother
burst into uncontrollable weeping.

John shut his book and came to her. He supported her on his bosom,
saying a soothing word or two at intervals, or when the paroxysm of her
anguish was beyond all bounds supporting her silently till it had gone
by; never once letting her feel that, bitter as her sorrow was, his was
heavier than hers.

Thus, during the whole of the day, had he been the stay and consolation
of the household. For himself--the father's grief was altogether dumb.

At last Mrs. Halifax became more composed. She sat beside her husband,
her hand in his, neither speaking, but gazing, as it were, into the
face of this their great sorrow, and from thence up to the face of God.
They felt that He could help them to bear it; ay, or anything else that
it was His will to send--if they might thus bear it, together.

We all three sat thus, and there had not been a sound in the parlour
for ever so long, when Mrs. Tod opened the door and beckoned me.

"He will come in--he's crazy-like, poor fellow! He has only just
heard--"

She broke off with a sob. Lord Ravenel pushed her aside and stood at
the door. We had not seen him since the day of that innocent jest
about his "falling in love" with Muriel. Seeing us all so quiet, and
the parlour look