“Then it's all up,” said Jack, turning to the Major. He was very pale. He knew now that his fortune was gone absolutely--house, everything. Few words were exchanged as they made their way back to the club. And here the Major did a most unusual thing for him. He ordered the drinks. But he did this delicately, apologetically. “I don't know as you care for anything, but Wall Street has made me thirsty. Eh?” “I don't mind if I do,” Jack replied. And they sat down. The conversation was not cheerful; it was mainly ejaculatory. After a second glass, Jack said, “I don't suppose it would do any good, but I should like to see Mavick.” And then, showing the drift of his thoughts, “I wonder what Carmen will do?” “I should say that will depend upon the will,” replied the Major. “She is a good-hearted woman,” and Jack's tone was one of inquiry. “She hasn't any, Jack. Not the least bit of a heart. And I believe Henderson found it out. I shall be surprised if his will doesn't show that he knew it.” A servant came to the corner where they were sitting and handed Jack a telegram. “What's this? Mavick?” He tore it open. “No; Edith.” He read it with something like a groan, and passed it over to the Major. What he read was this: “Don't be cast down, Jack. The boy and I are well. Come. Edith.” “That is splendid; that is just like her,” cried the Major. “I'd be out of this by the first train.” “It is no use,” replied Jack gloomily. “I couldn't 'face Edith now. I couldn't do it. I wonder how she knew?” He called back the servant, and penned as reassuring a message as he could, but said that it was impossible to leave town. She must not worry about him. This despatched, they fell again into a talk about the situation. After another glass Jack was firm in his resolution to stay and watch things. It seemed not impossible that something might turn up. On the third day after, both the Major and Jack attended the funeral at the house. Carmen was not visible. The interment was private. The day following, Jack left his card of condolence at the door; but one day passed, and another and another, and no word of acknowledgment came from the stricken widow. Jack said to himself that it was not natural to expect it. But he did expect it, and without reason, for he should have known that Carmen was not only overwhelmed with the sudden shock of her calamity, but that she would necessarily be busy with affairs that even grief would not permit her to neglect. Jack heard that Mavick had been in the city, and that he went to the Henderson house, but he had not called at the club, and the visit must have been a flying one. A week passed, and Jack received no message from Carmen. His note offering his services if she needed the services of any one had not been answered.