During all those dismal days before the funeral Juanita lived secluded in her own room, only leaving it to go to that silent room where the white bed and the white flowers made an atmosphere of cold purity, which chilled her heart as if she too were dead. She counted the hours which remained before even this melancholy link between life and death would be broken, and when she must stretch out her hands blindly to find one whom the earth would hide from her for evermore. In the brief snatches of troubled sleep that had visited her since Friday night she had awakened with her husband’s name upon her lips, with outstretched hands that yearned for the touch of his, awakening slowly to consciousness of the horrible reality. In every dream that she had dreamed he had been with her, and in some of those dreams had appeared with a distinctness which involved the memory of her sorrow. Yes, she had thought him dead—yes, she had seen him stretched bleeding at her feet; but that had been dream and delusion. Reality was here, here in his strong voice, here in the warm grasp of his hand, here in the lying vision that was kinder than truth. Mr. Dalbrook and his son arrived at a quarter to eight, and were received by Lord Cheriton in the library. The drawing-room was now a locked chamber, and it would be long doubtless before any one would have the courage to occupy that room. The Dalbrooks were to stay at Cheriton till after the funeral. Matthew Dalbrook had been Sir Godfrey’s solicitor, and it would be his duty to read the will. He was also one of the trustees to Juanita’s marriage settlement, and the time had come—all too soon—when the terms of that settlement would have to be discussed. “How is my cousin?” asked Theodore, when he had shaken hands with Lord Cheriton. “Have you seen her since—Friday?” “Yes, I saw her on Saturday morning. She was terribly changed.” “A ghastly change, is it not?” said Lord Cheriton, with a sigh. “I doubt if there is any improvement since then: but she behaved splendidly at the inquest this afternoon. We were all prepared for her breaking down. God knows whether she will ever get the better of her grief, or whether she will go down to the grave a broken-hearted woman. Oh! Matt,” turning to his kinsman and contemporary, “such a trial as this teaches us how Providence can laugh at our best laid plans. I thought I had made my daughter’s happiness as secure as the foundations of this old house.” “You did your best, James. No man can do more.”