Page was in all the confusion incident upon intense revulsion of feeling. He felt that he had not yet full command of his ideas; but the spontaneous desire to help this exquisite young creature, to let neither himself nor any one else wound her further, constituted his ruling passion for the moment. "You have sent no word to Jack as yet?" "No. As soon as your telegram came I decided to wait for you." She had been waiting for him and he had filled the moments of his coming with brutal contempt and criticism of her. The tearless sadness of her voice went on: "It is better for the word to go from you than from me." Her eyelids fell. "It will hurt Jack less. I would"—she lifted her eyes again and gave Page a look that his heart received as a pang. "I would gladly give my life if it could procure Jack one hour with his father, alive." "I believe it sincerely," he answered. The respect and sympathy of Page’s tone seemed to impel her to further explanation. "It was terribly sudden and unexpected," she said. "No one—the doctor himself did not believe in the possibility of such a catastrophe. He was feeling so well for him. He was in the act of speaking of it when he sank back. His last word was ’happy.’" She stood a moment, her eyelids dropped, in statuesque silence. Page watched her steady her tottering self-control. "I had thought," she went on finally, "of a succession of cablegrams. Could it be broken to your cousin a little more gently, so?" "Yes, that will be best." "And may I ask you to send them, without regard to cost?" "Certainly. What else can I do? I beg you to let me be useful to you in all ways that I can for Uncle Richard’s sake." "Thank you. I will give you the address of a neighbor, an old and dear friend of Mr. Van Tassel, who has been most kind. Perhaps he would be glad to consult with you." Page soon took his leave, and until the day after the funeral did not again have opportunity to speak with the young widow. Then she sent for him and he went upstairs to the gay and delicate boudoir which Richard Van Tassel had furnished for his young wife, whose black gown to-day made the one dark spot amid its luxury. She looked precisely the same as on the occasion of their first meeting except that now, by daylight, Page could see more distinctly her patient, marble beauty. "I could not let you go East without thanking you," she said, greeting him gravely. "You have been very kind, and a great help to us." The young man bowed, and murmured a polite platitude. He could think of nothing to say to her. "Do you—I suppose you do expect your cousin to return home immediately." "Yes. I think he will come." "One thing which I wanted to say to you this morning is that my sister and I are going immediately to California to spend the winter. You will meet your cousin, very likely, upon his arrival?" Page bowed.