"Oh, my poor fellow, I am sorry for you!" exclaimed Mrs. Temple, and she went up to John Temple and laid her hand on his arm. "So this is the story, is it? A sad, sad story!" "I left England, meaning never to return," continued Temple, after a short pause. "Even when the news came of my poor uncle's death I did not mean to do so. I received a letter from Mr. Churchill; a letter he had a right to write, and to which I was bound in honor to reply. I have come back for the purpose of doing this; I will tell him the truth--" "Do not talk of it any more just now," interrupted Mrs. Temple. "This is your own house now, but let me, for once at least, act as hostess. You will find your old rooms all ready for you, and we dine at half-past eight." "I think I am too tired to dine; will you excuse me?" said Temple, wearily. "Nonsense, nonsense, I won't excuse you. We shall be quite alone. My good mother has been with me since your poor uncle's death until to-day; but to-day I insisted on her departure. I was not going to have you annoyed by her." "Thank you for being so considerate." "Oh! you know I always wished to be good friends with you; it was not until--well, never mind, let us forget the past." "I fear that is impossible," said John Temple, sadly. "At all events do not let us talk of it. Good-by for the present then; I will see you in half an hour." After this she left him, and John Temple went slowly upstairs to his old rooms. These were all lighted and ready for him, with bright fires burning in the grates, and obsequious servants eager to attend on their new master. But John Temple felt unutterably depressed. Everything reminded him of the lovely face he believed now was befouled and stained by the river's slime, and when he was alone he covered his face and moaned aloud. But presently the dinner-gong sounded, and he was forced to go down-stairs and act his part. To do Mrs. Temple justice, she tried in every way to divert his mind. She made him tell her about Egypt, and spoke to him about books and travels, and talked to him as best she could. She felt, in truth, sorry for the gloomy-faced man opposite to her, and in her impulsive way she showed this very plainly. And when the dinner was over, and the servants had left the room, John Temple asked her the particulars of his uncle's death. She told him how sudden it had been, and that she had gone into the library and found him dead. "It was a great shock to me," she said, and for a moment her lips quivered. "It was a terrible shock to me also," he answered; "he was a good man." "He was very fond of you," said Mrs. Temple, turning away her head. "I was not ungrateful," replied John Temple, in a low tone, and his gray eyes fell; "though I fear--" "I suppose you know this house is yours, and everything in it?" went on Mrs. Temple, the next moment. "I shall not live here, and if you wish to do so I hope you will remain." "Oh, we can settle all that afterward."