im in his loss-he had told her nothing beyond the bare fact, and she was not one to read about inquests-and her deep sense of obligation to him that he, labouring under so great a burden

gust?' excla

and indeed they were both worn o

ho now considered Lucy's aunt selfish. 'T

te Mr. Wemyss's wonderful and unselfish motives in suggesting the continent, but she and Lucy were in that state when the idea of an hotel and waiters and a band was simply impossible to them, and all t

think she's a wounded bird,' said Wemyss, co

and help us to feel heroic,' said

much better and easier if yo

and Wemyss now considered Lucy's aunt obstinate as well as selfish. Also he thought her very ungrateful. She

cting and packing her father's belongings. Wemyss hung about the garden, not knowing when these activities mightn't suddenly cease and not wishing to

was he had difficulty in not contradicting her. Not only, Miss Entwhistle felt, and also explained, was there the bond of their dear Jim, whom both s

outh tight at thi

, made restless, she supposed, by his memories, and began to pace the lawn, she should get up and sympathetically pace it too. She could not let this kind, tender-hearted man-he must be that, or Jim wouldn't have been fond of him, besides she

ss Entwhistle of course didn't know he was holding on to himself, and taking his silence for the inarticulateness of deep unhappiness was so much touched that she would have done anything for him, anything that might bring this poor, kind, suffer

oments at meals when Lucy appeared, and through her unhappiness-what she was doing was obviously depressing her very muc

a person should have any right to come between him and Lucy, to say she wouldn't do this, that, or the other that Wemyss proposed, and thus possess the power to make him unhappy. Miss Entwhistle was so little that he could have brushed her aside wi

but except at meals there was no Lucy. He could have borne it if he hadn't known they were the very last days he would be with her, but as things were it seemed cruel that he should be left

orting out and packing, when Lucy got up to go indoors again, leaving hi

r hand on the back of her aunt's chair. 'Father brought all his notes with him, and heaps and heaps of let

t up her hand and

o away you'd have had more time an

want more time,'

hese things-they tear one's heart. And nobody can help her. She has to go through with it alone.' And she drew Lucy

as long as that aunt had hold of Lucy. She was the arch-wallower, h

whistle should explain to him what Lucy meant, he considered to be the last straw of her behaviour. Barging in, he said indignantly to himself; barging in when nobody had asked her opinion or explanation of anything. And she had stroked Lucy's face as though Lucy and her face and everything about her belonged to her, merely because she

aughed at such insects as aunts. He couldn't do that unfortunately, though where the harm would be in two mourners like himself and Lucy going together in search of relief he must say he was unable to see. Why should they be condemned to search for relief sepa

his back to the road, smoking his pipe and staring at the sea. If he heard the gate open and she dared to come through it he would instantly walk away

this wish, because the moment Miss Entwhistle caught his eye she would come out to him, he felt sure. But Wemyss was not much good at struggling again

first morning, but this time her eyes instead of being wide a

Lucy!' he exclaimed. 'You? Why didn't y

both her hands in his just as he had done that first morning; and the relief it was to Wemys

finished father's things now,' she s

voice vibrating, 'how can you go away from me to-morrow and han

tn't say that. You mustn't let yourself be like that a

you,' said Wemyss; and his eyes, as

t wings of Death. He was her wonderful friend, big in his simplicity, all care for her and goodness, a very rock of refuge and shelter in the wilderness she had been flung into when he found her. And that he, bleeding as he was himself from the lacerations of the violent rending asunder from his wife to whom he had been, as he had told her, devoted, that he should-oh no, it wasn't possible; and she hung her head

overcome that such a one at such a moment should thr

ot having his pipe in his mouth to protect him and help him to hold on to himself, for he had hastily stuffed it in his pocket, all alight as it was, when he saw her at the gate, and there

their lives, death in its blackest shape brooding over him, and-kisses. Her mind, if anything so gentle could be said to be in anything that sounds so loud, was in an uproar. She had had the complete, guileless trust in him of a child for a tender and sympathetic friend,-a friend, not a father, though he was old enough to be her father, be

-how long would she have to stand there with this going on-she couldn't lift up her head, for then she felt it would only get worse-she

on hers, 'We two poor things-we two poor things'-and then he said and did nothing more, but

The dreadfulness of lonely grief.... Was there anything in the world so blackly desolate as to be left alone in grief? This poor broken fellow-creature-and she herself, so lost, s

said, 'lo

osed her hands, and put hi

hough she had lifted her hea

e. When she saw them her mouth began to

' he sa

one hand she felt along up his coat till she reached