Mrs. Harding had been one of the earliest to receive old Mrs. Churchill's confidence, and had been so much astonished and impressed by what she heard, that she at once returned home and proceeded to rouse her husband, then peacefully sleeping off his hard night's work. It must have been something quite out of the common to have prompted such a step, as George Harding was never pleased at having his hard-earned rest broken in upon; but on this occasion his wife thought she had a complete justification. So she went softly into the closed room, undrew the curtains and let in the full morning sun; then she shook the sleeper's shoulder and called "George!" Harding roused himself at once and demanded what was the matter; he always had an idea, when suddenly awakened from sleep, that something had happened to the paper, either an Indian mail omitted, or a leader of the wrong politics inserted, or something equally dreadful in its result; and he had scarcely got his eyes fairly open, when his wife said, "Oh, my dear, such a terrible thing for poor Churchill!" "What do you mean?" asked George, broad-awake in an instant; "nobody ill?" "Oh, no, my dear; much better if it were. She's gone, my dear!" "Who's gone; what on earth do you mean?" and then his wife told him the story circumstantially. And after hearing it George Harding dressed himself at once and went out to see his friend. He found Churchill sitting in his little study, looking vacantly before him. There were no signs of work on the desk, no book near him; he had evidently been sitting for some time in a state of semi-stupor. He was very pale; but he looked up at the opening of the door and smiled faintly when he saw who it was. There was something so cheery in dear old George Harding's presence, that it shed light wherever he went, no matter how dark the surroundings: men who, as they knelt by the coffins of their wives, had prayed to God to take them then and there,--men who, contemplating the ruin sweeping down upon them, had horribly suggestive thoughts of the laudanum-bottle or the pistol-barrel,--had felt the dark clouds pass away at the sound of his genial voice and the sight of his hopeful face. But there were tears in George Harding's gray eyes as he took his friend's hand, and his voice shook a little as he said, "My dear old Frank! my poor dear fellow!" "I'm hard hit, Harding, and that's the truth. You've heard all about it, of course?" Frank asked nervously, fearing he might have again to recount the miserable history. "Yes, my wife has told me,--she heard it from your mother, I believe,--and I came on at once. Do you know I'm horribly afraid, Frank, that it was from your taking my advice that this quarrel took place?" "Your advice?" "Yes, about tightening the curb. I told you, if you recollect, that I thought there should be a greater amount of firmness and decision in your manner to Mrs. Churchill, and--"