Sydney had seen death, but never a death-bed. Death, when all the life-like surroundings are removed, when the last tender offices have been performed, and the soulless form lies before us in solemn calm; in this guise death is easier to believe in--to realise. But _dying_, the actual embrace of the grim phantom--a phantom only, thank God--she had never seen, and it came upon her with an awful shock. For some minutes--how many she never knew--she stood there beside the bed, in agonised bewilderment, almost amounting to unconsciousness. The first thing that brought her to herself was the sound of wheels rapidly driving along the street, suddenly stopping at their door. "Eugenia!" cried Sydney, "oh, poor Eugenia! She has come, and it is too late." Then a mocking hope sprang up in her heart. "Perhaps he has only fainted," it whispered. She knew it was not so, yet somehow the idea gave her momentary strength. She rang the bell violently. In another moment her husband and the servants were beside her. But in an instant they saw how it was--the good, kind father, the gentle-spirited scholar, the earnest philanthropist had passed through the awful doorway--had entered into "the better country." And Eugenia had not come! Sydney did not see her brother-in-law that night, but the next day he told her all--not quite all, but enough to prevent her blaming Eugenia-- to fill her with unspeakable pity for her sister. To Frank, Gerald was somewhat less communicative. "Fine lady airs and nonsense," exclaimed the curate. "Not well enough, indeed! Think how Sydney has been travelling about with her father and wearing herself out, poor child. Still I am very sorry for Eugenia. It will be an awful blow to her." And the letter he wrote to Beauchamp, deputing him, as was natural, to "break the sad tidings" to his wife, was kind and considerate in the extreme. Return of post brought no answer, considerably to their surprise, for Frank's letter had contained particulars of the arrangements they proposed, among which Captain Chancellor's presence at the funeral had of course been mentioned. Sydney felt anxious and uneasy; her husband tried to reassure her by reminding her that her nerves had been shaken, and she was inclined to be fanciful in consequence. "It must be some accidental delay," he said. "Letters seldom go wrong, but when they do, it is sure to happen awkwardly. Besides, I think it just possible Chancellor may be bringing Eugenia over. She will probably wish it." As he spoke there came a loud ringing at the bell. Sydney started. In the sad days of death's actual presence in a house such sounds are rare. There were grounds for her apprehension. In another moment a telegram was in Frank's hands. "From Captain Chancellor to Rev F. Thurston. "Is it possible for Sydney to come at once? E---is very ill." The husband and wife looked at each other. "My poor Sydney," said Frank, "it is very hard upon you."