‘And what does that matter in a life?’ said Agnes, looking up at him with a courageous smile. ‘Nothing! no more than a moment. We have not done any harm,’ she added, collecting all her strength. ‘We have not neglected our work nor wasted our time. And we never meant anything. It was all an accident. Mr. Meredith, good-by. I shall pray that you may be happy.’ ‘Ah! that is like what the world says of saints,’ he said, sharply. ‘You make me wretched, and then pray that I may be happy.’ ‘Oh, no, no,’ she cried, the tears coming to her eyes. ‘How can I have made you wretched? It was only an accident. It has been only a moment. You will not refuse to say good-by.’ Foolish Agnes! she had nothing to do but to leave him, having said her say. But, instead of this she argued, bent upon making a logical conclusion to which he should consent, convinced, though against his will. On the whole she preferred that it should be against his will--but convinced she had determined that he must be. They walked away softly through the little street into the sunset, which sank lower every moment, shedding a glory of slant light upon the two young figures so sombre in garb, so radiant in life. Where they were going they did not know, nor how the charmed moments were passing. Every shade of the coming evening lay behind them, but all the glory of the rose tints and glowing purple, the daffodil skies and gates of pearl, before. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE WIDOW. The full particulars of Mr. Meredith’s death and Mr. Meredith’s will came by the next mail; and this information acted as a kind of funeral ceremony and conclusion to the melancholy period. All his affairs were in order; his will unassailable, the provisions sufficiently just. There was more money than anyone expected, and it was divided into three unequal shares--the largest for his eldest son, the second for Edward, the least of all for their mother. This arrangement took them all by surprise, and it was with some little difficulty that Mrs. Meredith was brought to see how it affected herself. That there would be any difference to her had not occurred to her. She had thought only of her children. ‘They certainly will not be worse off than they have been,’ she said five minutes before the contents of the will were communicated to her; but any question as to how she herself would be affected had not entered her mind. Even after she had heard it she did not realise it. ‘I am afraid you will scarcely be able to keep up this house unless the boys stay with you, which is not to be expected,’ said old Mr. Sommerville. She looked at him, taking her handkerchief from her eyes. ‘My house?’ she said, faltering. Mr. Beresford was present and one or two other old friends.