"No," she replied tranquilly. "This is no house for sunshine. I knew when you came that you would not be here long." "You can do me a service. I shall soon look my last on this place; will you pack up such things as are mine, and give them to a messenger I shall send?" "Yes; they shall be ready this evening." "Then that is all, and the world is before me for me to open. Where is my oyster-knife?" He felt in his pockets with a comical air. "Ah, it is here," and he touched his forehead confidently. "So now good-bye, Martha." She did not relinquish the hand he held out to her, but clasped it firmly in hers. "You will let me know where you live, Felix?" "O, yes; I will let you know." "I have but little money of my own, unfortunately----" "Stop, stop, stop!" he cried, with his fingers on her "Enough has been said, and I must go. Good-bye." "Good-bye; I think you do right to leave, Felix." "I should be compelled to leave, sooner or later," he replied; "I could not live without love or sympathy. The cold austerity of this house is enough to turn heart and face to stone. I pity you, Martha. I have sometimes wondered how you could have stood it so long." "I earn money here, Felix. Your father pays me liberally--for him--because I suit him; and I am not entirely without love. I have something to work for, thank God. Good-bye. May every good fortune be yours!" CHAPTER XII. POLLYPOD WANTS TO KNOW. When Felix reached the churchyard, the grave was still empty. The coffin lay upon the earth by its side, and the women of the party were sitting on convenient tombstones. Of the men, only Alfred remained; Gribble junior and the old man were absent. Gribble junior's baby was sleeping peacefully beneath the umbrella tent, the gay outside of which had caused the two old men to go for two other old men, and the girls in dirty pinafores to go for other girls in dirty pinafores. These new-comers were as interested in the unusual sight as their friends, and expressed their admiration by staring persistently in the dullest possible manner.