It was well for Ethel that at the time of her sad visit to Blackrock, Madeleine Greenwood was there, for in her she found a companion of her own age, and a comforter as well as friend. As the time drew near for Mr. Morton to return to Ashley House, the attachment which had sprung up between the two girls became closer and more intimate, and when Ethel returned to Ashley House, it was a very great satisfaction to her to have Madeleine with her for a lengthened visit, a concession which Mr. Morton could not deny to her earnest entreaties. The clothes of poor Digby, his books and school treasures, were packed up and sent away. The Doctor held a funeral service with the boys on the Sunday after the catastrophe, and addressed them briefly, but with great earnestness and emotion, on the loss they had sustained, and the awful suddenness of death, urging upon all the necessity of preparation, as none knew the day nor hour when the change would come. A week later a marble column was raised upon the spot where the clothes were found, bearing this simple inscription: "In loving memory of D. M., who was drowned while bathing, June 18, 18--, aged 17 years." On the evening of the day when the stone was raised, Martin and Howard sat together beside it. Howard was very pale, and looked as if he had gone through a severe illness. He sat for some time gazing at the monument, until a tear dimmed his eye. "My good fellow," said Martin, "why do you give way to so much useless regret? You are so morbidly sensitive that you seem to blame yourself as though you had been guilty of poor Digby's death." Howard made no reply to his friend's remark, and for some moments remained quite silent. Then he said; "Martin, I shall never forgive myself about poor Digby. I fear I have wronged him." "You wronged him? What do you mean?" "I mean that in that miserable affair about the miniature, I reflected the blame in some degree upon him; I could not at the time help thinking that he knew something about it, and I fear I caused a wrong suspicion to rest on him. It is useless to give way to regret, but I do so wish I could speak to him just once again, to say that I now feel that I wronged him by my suspicions." "Are you quite satisfied in your own mind, that you did wrong him?" asked Martin. "Yes; something has happened which I have not mentioned to a soul, and shall not, except to you. Since poor Digby's death, I have lost my overcoat. I wore it on that cold Sunday night, and afterward hung it up in my room. I should not have missed it, but that I had left in the pocket my Bible--you remember the one, it was given to me by my father when I first left home for school. I have searched everywhere for the coat, and cannot find it. It is a great loss to me, for I would have parted with anything else in the world rather than lose that Bible." "Have you not mentioned it to my uncle?" asked Martin, his face taking on a sharper look.