first day of his return. They walked out
together at dusk, and he spoke of his
plans.Matters had not yet been definitively
arranged, but Captain Sheardown had great
hopes that Mr. Snowe would advance the
money required. Herbert Snowe was now
a partner in his father's bank, and was
good-naturedly desirous of helping Hugh.
The old gentleman was slow and cautious
and difficult to satisfy. But Hugh had
good hopes that he would consent to
advance the money after a decent delay.

"And then, my own darling, we will be
married directly, will we not? There is
nothing to wait for, is there?"

"N — no, dear Hugh. If you will take
me in my black gown, I will come to you
when you are ready. Dear Aunt Hilda
would not have wished us to delay our
marriage."

"Far from that! You know what she
said, the good kind soul. And as to the
gown, it must be a white one for that day
at all events."

When they got home again, Hugh had
some papers and plans to look over for his
employers, Digby and West. He had not
left their office, but was continuing at a
weekly salary, on the understanding that he
should be allowed to quit them at a
fortnight's notice. They all sat in Mrs.
Lockwood's little parlour. The sitting-room
upstairs had not been used since Lady Tallis's
death. Maud had a book, but it lay for the
most part idly in her lap, while her eyes
dreamily wandered towards Hugh as he
bent over his papers, and every now and then
stuck a short blunt pencil between his teeth
to hold it, and knit his brows portentously
over the consideration of some difficult point.
The vicar, too, had a book which he read,
or seemed to read. And Mrs. Lockwood's
nimble fingers were busy with a basketful
of soft grey woollen stockings—Hugh's
stockings—which she was mending on an
infallible principle that almost appeared to
make a darned stocking superior to an un-
darned one; so daintily dexterous was the
crossing of the threads!

Usually the widow was not by any means
loquacious. To-night, however, her tongue
moved, if not as rapidly, almost as unrestingly,
as her fingers. She harped on the
topic of Lady Tallis's death, returning to it
again and again, until the vicar at length
shut his book with a look of resignation.

"You remember what day it was she
died, Maud?" said Mrs. Lockwood.

"Remember it!"

"I mean you remember the date and all.
Of course you do. Tuesday the fourth of
March it was: yes, that was the date."

"Yes."

"And—and when I came up-stairs again
after preparing the beef tea that she had
asked for, she had fallen asleep."

"Yes;" said Maud, again. She did not
understand why these details should be
recapitulated, but she answered sweetly and
patiently.

"We have never spoken of the
particulars to Mr. Levincourt, have we?"
pursued Mrs. Lockwood. The vicar was
not specially desirous of hearing more
particulars than he knew already respecting
Lady Tallis's death: and Zillah perceived
this, perfectly. But with an utter absence
of her usual fine tact, she continued to
harp on the subject.

"She seemed a little better, and very
cheerful that morning, did she not, Maud?'

"Yes; she was free from suffering at the
last, thank God!"

"Oh quite; quite. When I first came
into her room, she said, ' I feel much stronger
than I did yesterday.' Who would have
thought that by noon that day she would be
dead!"

The vicar, feeling himself called on to
say something, gave a little sigh, and
murmured, "Ah, it is often the case in that
disorder that the patient feels unaccountably
better just before the end comes."

"I was with her a long time after Maud
went away that morning, Mr. Levincourt.
Maud had been sitting up all night, and
was worn out. I sent her to bed. Was I
not right?"

"Very right, and considerate."

"And so Maud was not with her aunt at
the last. But Lady Tallis passed away in
a kind of gentle slumber. She slept a long
time—until past ten I should say. Indeed
I am pretty sure. And Jane says so too.
I was talking to Jane about it this morning.
I could swear Lady Tallis was alive until
past ten o'clock! And Jane is sure of it
too."

"You had better not swear it, either of
you," said Hugh, looking up from his
papers, " for you would be mistaken."

"Mistaken! Why, Hugh, the—the
more I think of it, the surer I feel that——"

"Darling mother, we need not pursue the
discussion. It is not likely that you will
have to make oath about it."

"Not at all likely. Most unlikely as far
as—as far as we know. But still, Hugh, as
far as the matter of fact is concerned, I feel
convinced that she must have been still