“Ronny,” said Fenella, with one of her little spasms of silent mirth, “Ronny is quite well; only he insisted in driving up to the door in a goat chaise. What is the matter, Frank--you are not unwell?” “No,” said Frank faintly, “no, only the dread of some new disaster. We have gone through so many!” “They are all over now,” she said, sweetly and confidently, “all over. Ronny will be here soon, and then we three will live here happily together, and poor Mr. Jacynth, whose time I am afraid I have really monopolized quite shamefully, can go back to his chambers and his clients again.” “Yes,” said Jacynth dully. “I can go back. I--I have neglected them too long.” It was the end, he realized; she needed him no longer. He should see her no more--he would go. But before he could carry out his intention, he was startled by a sudden change in Onslow’s expression and, shocked beyond words, he saw him throw his arms above his head, turn sharply round three times, and totter heavily against a wire flower stand, full of hyacinths in bloom, which he brought down with him in his fall. It was all over! The long-standing heart trouble, combined with the excitement of the varied events of the past months, and especially of the last hour, had brought poor Frank Onslow’s checkered career to a sudden and tragic close, and the form that lay there among the bared bulbs, crushed bells, scattered earth, and broken pots of the hyacinths was already itself nothing but lifeless clay. Fenella felt too much for tears; she stood there in a kind of stupor, wondering what had happened to her, and how it would affect her when she was able to think of it. It was Jacynth who, with his never-failing tact and consideration, came to her relief. “This is no place for you now,” he said, in his grave, gentle tones. “Let me lead you away, Fenella.” Fenella allowed herself to be guided by him; she had got so much into the habit of depending entirely upon him lately that somehow it seemed the natural thing to do. Only when they reached the fresh air and sunshine outside she looked up at him with childlike, appealing eyes. “Where are we going?” she inquired dreamily. “We are going,” he said, “to meet Ronny and the goat chaise.” It was strange, perhaps, but this simple remark gave Fenella a vague comfort. It would be some time--weeks, or even months--she knew, before happiness returned to her, and she was her own wayward, light-hearted self again; but that happiness was in store for her, that some day, sooner or later, she would forget all that seemed so painful and unpleasant just now, she knew as surely as that she was walking down the road, and leaning upon Clitheroe Jacynth’s strong right arm. And so these two went down to meet the goat chaise. THE END. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.