The anxiety of Edith's illness, together with Mrs. Esterbrook's death, brought several spells of heart trouble on Mr. Esterbrook. One week from the time his wife was buried, he succumbed to heart failure, and was laid to rest. George forbade the slightest mention of it to be made to Edith. As she slowly returned to consciousness, he wondered how to prepare her for the awful revelation of her bereavement. When he spoke of it to Howard, he learned the weak nature of one who was Edith's ideal. "Really, Cadman, I can't possibly tell her. You are a doctor, you know best how to do those things. Won't you relieve me of this trying ordeal? I'm sure to make a blunder of it." George concealed his surprise, and calmly acquiesced. With all the power of his great strong sympathies, he made the telling of it as bearable as possible. He contrived also to have Alma near to soothe and comfort in her woman's way. She was only too glad to give her heart's best to Edith. And Alma found herself constantly being lifted into realms of beauty and light, which she had never even dreamed of in her past selfish life. All her old way of thinking was completely cast off,--the old garment was replaced by a new one of shining brightness. Edith would never forget these two good friends. George's tactful sympathy carried her through her crisis. Alma's woman's heart wept with her, and so her triple loss was made less awful in its consequences. However, with returning health, came a fearful melancholy which neither could alleviate. Howard was ordinarily kind, but seemed to fear the slightest reference to her grief. He was away from home a great deal. Always he was punctiliously careful to leave her well provided for and not alone, but her illness seemed to irritate him, and she could see that, being any length of time at her couch made him uncomfortably, restless. His coldness hurt her with a new constant pain. George's watchful patience, and constant thought of her was a vivid contrast, and she found herself looking for his visits with an ever-increasing longing. It was the subtlest working of heart upon heart, which finally chilled her love for Howard, and made his presence a source of constraint and embarrassment. Edith did not yet acknowledge to herself that her love was any the less. But as love generates love, so Howard's aloofness and indifference was surely generating its own kind in his wife's mind and heart. "There is Cadman's auto," Howard remarked in a relieved tone, as he looked from the window and saluted George as he alighted. "We will get his opinion about it." At the sound of George's name Edith's eyes brightened. She never allowed herself to think of the time when his professional calls would cease. She had a vague, unhappy fear that he would make no other calls. As he entered the room, she tried to rise to greet him, but she sank back on her cushions. George's eyes scanned her professionally.