"George never knew one word of this conversation between my father and me--he never suspected our fears--but from that hour my happiness was gone. My life was one perpetual dread--one ceaseless struggle to hide all anxieties and fears under a smile. George rallied, and seemed to grow strong again--was full of energy and high spirits, and I had to pretend to think him as thoroughly recovered as he fancied himself. But by this time I had grown sadly wise. I had questioned our doctor--had looked into medical books--and I knew every sad sign and token of decay. I knew what the flushed cheek and the brilliant eye, the damp cold hand, and the short cough meant. I knew that the hand of death was on him whom I loved more than all the world besides. There was no need for the postponement of our marriage. In the long bright days of August he seemed wonderfully well--as well as he had been before the attack in May. I was almost happy; for, in spite of what the doctor had told me, I began to hope! but early in September, while the dressmakers were in the house making my wedding clothes, the end came suddenly, unexpectedly, with only a few hours' warning. Oh, Christabel! I cannot speak of that day!" "No, darling, you shall not, you must not," cried Christabel, showering kisses on her aunt's pale cheek. "And yet you always lead her on to talk about Captain Hamleigh," said the sensible voice out of the shadow. "Isn't that just a little inconsistent of our sweet Belle?" "Don't call me your 'sweet Belle'--as if I were a baby," exclaimed the girl. "I know I am inconsistent--I was born foolish, and no one has ever taken the trouble to cure me of my folly. And now, Auntie dear, tell me about Captain Hamleigh's son--the boy who is coming here to-morrow." "I have not seen him since he was at Eton. The Squire drove me down on a Fourth of June to see him." "It was very good of Uncle Tregonell." "The Squire was always good," replied Mrs. Tregonell, with a dignified air. Christabel's only remembrance of her uncle was of a large loud man, who blustered and scolded a good deal, and frequently contrived, perhaps, without meaning it, to make everybody in the house uncomfortable; so she reflected inwardly upon that blessed dispensation which, however poorly wives may think of living husbands, provides that every widow should consider her departed spouse completely admirable. "And was he a nice boy in those days?" asked Christabel, keenly interested. "He was a handsome gentlemanlike lad--very intellectual looking; but I was grieved to see that he looked delicate, like his father; and his dame told me that he generally had a winter cough." "Who took care of him in those days?" "His maternal aunt--a baronet's wife, with a handsome house in Eaton Square. All his mother's people were well placed in life."