'My pet, of course you can't, and you shan't. It was thoughtless of me to think that speech would be a relief. Lie down on your bed, dear, and have a good rest, and you will feel better presently.' But she opposed that too. 'I can't stay here. I want to go home _at once. At once_, mother.' 'My dearest child, you must wait for me. I can't let you go alone in this state, and I can't, of course, go myself until Jane is ready to come with me.' 'I'm going,' she repeated. 'I can go alone. I'm going now, at once.' And she began feverishly cramming her things into her suit-case. I was anxious about her, but I did not like to thwart her in her present mood. Then I heard Frank's voice in the drawing-room, and I thought I would get him to accompany her, at least to the station. Frank and Clare have always been fond of one another, and she has a special reliance on clergymen. I went into the drawing-room, and found Frank and Johnny both there, with Jane and Percy. So that dreadful Jew must have gone. I told Frank that Clare was in a terrible state, and entrusted her to his care. Frank is a good unselfish brother, and he went to look after her. Johnny, silent and troubled, and looking as if death was out of his line, though, Heaven knows, he had seen enough of it during the last five years, was fidgeting awkwardly about the room. His awkwardness was, no doubt, partly due to the fact that he had never much cared for Oliver. This does make things awkward, in the presence of the Great Silencer. Percy had to leave us now, in order to go to the _Haste_ and see about things there. He said he would be back in the afternoon. He would, of course, take over the business of making the last sad arrangements, which Jane called, rather crudely, 'seeing about the funeral'; the twins would always call spades 'spades.' Presently I made the suggestion which I had for some time had in my mind. 'May I, dear?' I asked very softly, half rising. Jane rose, too. 'See Oliver, you mean? Oh, yes. He's in his room.' I motioned her back. 'Not you, darling. Johnny will take me.' Johnny didn't want to much, I think; it is the sort of strain on the emotions that he dislikes, but he came with me. 8 What had been Oliver lay on the bed, stretched straight out, the beautiful face as white and delicate as if modelled in wax. One saw no marks of injury; except for that waxy pallor he might have been sleeping. In the presence of the Great White Silence I bowed my head and wept. He was so beautiful, and had been so alive. I said so to Johnny. 'He was so alive,' I said, 'so short a time ago.' 'Yes,' Johnny muttered, staring down at the bed, his hands in his pockets. 'Yesterday, of course. Rotten bad luck, poor old chap. Rotten way to get pipped.' For a minute longer I kept my vigil beside that inanimate form.