perons of importance, consigning dust to
its companion dust, on average occasions,
with a vigorous and business-like air. The
sweet and almost tearful resignation he
could assume on occasions of bereavement
in high life, would have secured him an
advantageous engagement in quite another
profession.

When all was over, and the crowd had
dispersed, the doctor with "the bereaved
father" (as he persisted in styling him for
many weeks to come) went into the church,
and was a long time walking round it, and
looking at various portions of it. They were
selecting a suitable spot for a most gorgeous
marble monument, the finest that the genius
of Knollys, R.A., could devise. His having
already thus decorated the remains of a
royal personage was in itself a guarantee
with the doctor for the artistic character
of the performance.

After all, we may not find fault with
these post-mortem tributes, which, with
their inscriptions and flourishes, of image
and panegyric, have been so often sneered
at, for they at least soothe the torn and
pierced hearts of those who have been left
behind; who by planning, and erecting,
and contemplating such things, divert
what would have been an agonising
inaction, until Time steps in, and soothingly
brings resignation.

CHAPTER II. A MENACE.

WHILE they were thus engaged Jessica
was hovering afar off, drawn by some
strange attraction, to wait and see the
end. She heard them fix on a spot,
the doctor lecturing on its advantages;
the chief of which seemed to be that it
could be seen from all parts of the church.
"We cannot do too much in this sad
bereavement, and I am confident Mr.
Knollys will do his best."

When they were, at last, gone, and the
baronet seemed now to be led away, an old
broken man, on his friend's arm, she stole
into the church, up to the space that had
been selected; through the window she
could see the stone slab of the new vault,
and turned away her head. There would
come a Sunday, shortly perhaps, when the
memorial would face her, as she sat in her
usual seat; the pure snowy marble canopy,
sheltering the sleeping figure, whose hands
would be joined on its breast; below there
would be the inscription, age, date, wretched
father, extravagant praise, best of children,
beloved by all who knew her. Jessica had
shrunk from that picture of the sleeping
image, to be always before her as she
prayed of a Sunday; but that imaginary
inscription came to her as a wholesome
corrective, and made her cold and stern
again. "It was a judgment," she said, as
she turned away. "I have nothing to do
with it. It does not lie with me!" Suddenly
she found the worn face of Dudley
was looking at her. "Who said it lay
with you? With all your hatred to her,
that was never changed. Are you here to
gloat over her grave?"

She drew herself up, and met his look of
dislike. "Over that grave I shall not dispute
with you. You know what my nature
is, and that it is not one likely to exult over
the fallen. Further, I can tell you I was
thinking, with bitter regret, over our old
disputes, and that I might have judged her
harshly."

"Might have! Is that your only amende?
Take care that you have not the same equity
meted out to you; that people may not
accuse you, and at last let you off with a
'might have judged harshly.' You amaze
me—accustomed as I am to strange things
in this world—to think that you can have
all this coolness and hardness. Oh, the poor,
poor girl!" he added, with despair in his
tones. "Oh, what a mysterious end! They
take it all as a matter of course, and accept
the physician's twaddle. Yet I believe she
was harassed and excited by those who had
an interest in exciting her. Never fear, they
shall all account for it—every one of them.
If I were a Corsican I might take their way
—don't be alarmed, Miss Bailey. But I
may tell you this—and you know yourself
it is the truth—if we were to cast up all
her troubles and annoyances, you would be
found to be the one who fretted and
harassed her most persistently."

She faltered. "I am innocent; it was
she who made my life wretched, and who
harassed me."

"That is false; you must not say that,
standing so near to where she lies. I do
not want to threaten you; but there is a
retribution for these things. It will overtake
you—never fear. Nay, it has begun
its work already. What has drawn you
here to-day but remorse? I might swear
this, too, there was more between you and
her than the world shall ever know."

Jessica involuntarily started.

"Yes," he went on, "and I shall have
something to live for, if only to search
and hunt up all that concerns her. I go
away now for a time. I must school
myself in wild travels in wild places, to be