Lady Julia Wilmot had never posed in society save as a beauty, and the great consideration that was ever shown her was due to that beauty and her birth and position as an earl's daughter; but not to any brilliant qualities of head--still less of amiability of heart. Thus in many ways she was a fair average example of 'the upper ten.' So now it may be said of her and Cousin Emily on this disastrous occasion, 'Some natural tears they shed, but wip'd them soon.' And their first thoughts were of a suitable and handsome tablet to Jerry's memory in the Vicarage Church, and of fashionable mourning for themselves and the household. It would all cast a gloom over their return to town after Easter in March, when a 'brief season' would commence--if they went to town at all, for 'thank Heaven,' added Lady Julia, 'no one shall accuse me of not doing my duty to my son. I shall order my mourning at Jay's, and certainly will not wear one of those frightful bonnets with long--what is it now, John?' A tall footman, with a face of woe made up for the occasion, and a manner adapted to it--for the news had spread like wildfire over all the house and vicinity, and when many genuine tears were shed in the servants' hall, where Jerry was a prime favourite with the women folks--brought in a card, announcing 'Miss Chevenix.' 'Chevenix again--this is intolerable! Did you say not at home?' 'I said you were engaged--severially indispoged, my lady,' he replied, shaking his cauliflower-looking head solemnly. 'Yet--she would come in.' 'Yes, my lady.' 'And at a time like this--when we are plunged in unutterable woe! Such confident assurance!' The door was thrown open, and Bella Chevenix came swiftly forward as the servant withdrew. But in this we are anticipating a little. CHAPTER VI. 'THOUGHTS THAT OFTEN LIE TOO DEEP FOR TEARS.' Like the again partially widowed Laura, Bella Chevenix had watched with an aching heart the progressive news of the war among barbarians on the burning Gold Coast, from the landing on New Year's Day to the battle of Amoaful, the passage of the Prah, and the victorious advance on Coomassie; and now came the sudden shock and horror by a tantalisingly brief telegram, in the upper corner of a newspaper, headed by a sensational title in large type, but three lines, announcing that the two officers had fallen--Dalton severely wounded, and Wilmot killed and carried off by the enemy! Bella sat for a time as one turned to stone, incapable even of tears--oppressed and crushed down by the one appalling and apparently, unrealisable thought. 'Jerry dead--Jerry dead--and I shall never see him more!'