Grainger, after some struggles about, how to
accomplish the task, took courage, and wrote to
Miss Sophia Calvert, to inform her of the
disastrous event which had occurred, and the loss
of her cousin. The letter was, however, left
without any acknowledgment whatever, and save
in some chance whisperings between Emily and
her aunt, the name of Calvert was never spoken
of again.

Only a few days before Christmas a telegraph
told them that Loyd had reached Trieste,
and would be with them in a few days. By
this time Florence had recovered much of her
strength and some of her looks. She was glad,
very glad, to hear that Joseph was coming; but
her joy was not excessive. Her whole nature
seemed to have been toned down by that terrible
incident to a state of calm resignation to accept
whatever came with little of joy or sorrow; to
submit to, rather than partake of, the changeful
fortunes of life. It was thus Loyd found her when
he came, and, to his thinking, she was more
charming, more lovable, than ever. The sudden
caprices, which so often had worried him, were
gone, and in their place there was a gentle
tranquillity of character which suited every trait of
his own nature, and rendered her more than ever
companionable to him. Warned by her aunt and
sister to avoid the topic of the storm, he never
alluded to it in any shape to Florence; but one
evening, as, after a long walk, together, she lay
down to rest before tea-time, he took Milly's arm
and led her into the garden.

"She has told me all, Milly," said he, with
some emotion; " at least, all that she can
remember of that terrible day."

CHAPTER XXIV. THE LAST AND THE SHORTEST.

LOYD was married to Florence; they went to
India, and in due time—even earlier than due
time—he was promoted from rank to rank till he
reached the dignity of chief judge of a district,
a position which he filled with dignity and credit.

Few were more prosperous in all the relations
of their lives. They were fortunate in almost
everything, even to their residence near Simlah,
on the slope of the Himalaya: they seemed to
have all the goods of fortune at their feet. In
India, where hospitality is less a virtue than a
custom, Loyd's House was much frequented, his
own agreeable manners, and the charming qualities
of his wife, had given them a wide-spread
notoriety, and few journeyed through their
district without seeking their acquaintance.

"You don't know who is 'coming here to
dinner to-day, Florry," said Loyd, one morning
at breakfast; "some one you will be glad to
see, even for a memory of Europe—Stockwell."

"Stockwell? I don't remember Stockwell."

"Not remember him? And he so full of the
charming reception you gave him at Orta, where
he photographed the villa, and you and Emily in
the porch, and Aunt Grainger washing her
poodle in the flower-garden?"

"Oh, to be sure I do, but he would never let
us have a copy of it, he was so afraid Aunt
Grainger would take it ill; and then he went
away very suddenly; if I mistake not, he was
called off by telegram on the very day he was
to dine with us."

"Perhaps he'll have less compunctions now
that your aunt is so unlikely to see herself so
immortalised. I'm to go over to Behasana to
fetch him, and I'll ask if he has a copy."

His day's duties over, Loyd went across to the
camp where his friend Stockwell was staying.
He brought him back, and the photographs
were soon produced.

"My wife," said Loyd, " wishes to see some
of her old Italian scenes. Have you any of
those you took in Italy?"

"Yes, I have some half-dozen yonder. There
they are, with their names on the back of them.
This was the little inn you recommended me
to stop at, with the vine terrace at the back of
it. Here, you see the clump of cypress-trees
next the boat-house."

"Ay, but she wants a little domestic scene
at the villa, with her aunt making the morning
toilet, of her poodle. Have you got that?"

"To be sure I have; and—not exactly as a
pendant to it, for it is terrific rather than droll—
I have got a storm-scene that I took the morning
I came away. The horses were just being
harnessed, for I received a telegram informing
me I must be at Ancona two days earlier than
I looked for to catch the India mail, and I was
taking the last view before I started. I was in
a tremendous hurry, and the whole thing is
smudged and scarce distinguishable. It was
the grandest storm I ever witnessed. The whole
sky grew black, and seemed to descend to meet
the lake, as it was lashed to fury by the wind.
I had to get a peasant to hold the instrument
for me as I caught one effect—merely one. The
moment was happy, it was just when a great
glare of lightning burst through the black mass
of cloud, and lit up the centre of the lake, at
the very moment that a dismasted boat was
being drifted along to, I suppose, certain
destruction. Here it is, and here are, as well as
I can make out, two figures. They are
certainly figures, blurred as they are, and that
is clearly a woman clinging to a man who is
throwing her off: the action is plainly that. I
have called it a Rent in a Cloud."

"Don't bring this to-day, Stockwell," said
Loyd, as the cold sweat burst over his face and
forehead; "and, when you talk of Orta to my
wife, say nothing of the Rent in a Cloud."

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," " Copperfleld," &e.
Now publishing, PART II., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
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