"Dick might have left Hulver to me. '_We brought nothing into the world and it is certain we can carry nothing out._' Poor old Dick! I dare say he meant to. But he was too casual, and had a bee in his bonnet. But if he had done nothing else, he ought to have made some provision for Mary Deane and his child. He could not tell Molly would die before him. '_For a thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday._' Seeing Harry is what he is and Janey is to have Noyes, Dick might have remembered me. I shall have to work the estate for Harry now, I suppose. Doesn't seem quite fair, does it? '_O teach us to number our days: that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom._' Never heard Black read the service better. He'll be a bishop some day. And now that Dick has forgotten me, how on earth am I ever to marry? '_Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live and is full of misery._' That's the truest text of the whole lot." Roger looked once at Annette, and then fixed his eyes once more on the carved finial of the old oaken bench on which he was sitting, where his uncle had sat before him, and where he could just remember seeing his grandfather sit in a blue frock-coat thirty years ago. He looked for the hundredth time at the ragged staff of the Warwicks carved above the bear, the poor bear which had lost its ears if it ever had any. His hand in its split glove closed convulsively on the bear's head. _How was he going to marry Annette!_ Annette's eyes rested on the flower-covered coffin in front of her, but she did not see it. She was back in the past. She was kneeling by Dick's bed with her cheek against the pillow, while his broken voice whispered, "The wind is coming again, and I am going with it." The kind wind had taken the poor leaf at last, the drifting shredded leaf. And then she felt Roger look at her, and other thoughts suddenly surged up. Was it possible--was it possible--that Dick might part her and Roger? Their eyes met for an instant across the coffin. Already Roger looked remote, as if like Dick he were sinking into the past. She felt a light touch on her hand. The choir had risen for the anthem. CHAPTER XXXII "Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, la vie est là, Simple et tranquille. Cette paisible rumeur-là Vient de la ville. Qu'as-tu fait, O toi que voilà Pleurant sans cesse, Dis, qu'as-tu fait, toi que voilà De ta jeunesse?" PAUL VERLAINE.