To be in the room with the dead seems to be itself a partaking of death; it is at least, for a moment, a suspension of life. Yet the still welcome is not unfriendly. She walked toward the bed alone, but in an instant beckoned to me to follow her. She bent down and moved the covering. His broad strong face looked resolute and brave as ever. It looked--to speak truth--as hard as ever also. Her eyes were set on him; suddenly she caught hold of my hand; "Don't go." I pressed her hand, for I heard her breathing quickly. I just caught her next words: "He might have given me a chance!" [Illustration: "_He might have given me a chance!_"] "I believe he was sorry about that at the end." She shook her head. "He's given you a big chance now." She nodded, but absently. "How strange to--to be his doing--and he there! And then--all this!" She let go my hand, took a step forward, bent and kissed his brow quickly. "How cold!" she murmured and grasped my hand tightly again. To my fancy she seemed surprised--and relieved--that the sleeper did not stir. We were--as I say--out of the world; we were just two creatures, living for a little while, by the side of a third who lived no more. "You shouldn't kiss him unless you forgive," I said. She kissed him again and drew the sheet over his face. "He must have been a fine man. I forgive. Come, let's go." Outside, the world was with us--and I wondering whether that was what I had really said. At least she seemed to bear me no ill-will. "Are you free to come for a walk?" she asked. "I should like some fresh air." "Would you like to see the gardens?" "No--that means pottering. Take me for a good spin." By a happy thought I remembered Tor Hill and took her there. The hill lies at the extremity of the Priory park, looking down on the road which separates our dominions from the Fillingford country; beyond the road the Manor itself can be seen by glimpses through the woods which surround it. Catsford lies in the valley to the left; away to the right, but not in sight, lay Oxley Lodge, and Overington Grange, the seat of Sir John Aspenick. Here she could take a bird's-eye view of her position and that of her nearest neighbors. "I'm glad to see Fillingford," she remarked. "My father mentioned it--in the earlier part of that letter. He said that he had wanted to buy it, but Lord Fillingford couldn't or wouldn't sell." "His son's consent was necessary--that's the present man--and he wouldn't give it. Indeed the story runs that he hated Mr. Driver for trying to buy." She seemed to take as careful a view of Fillingford Manor as the distance and the trees allowed. "My father seems to have been sorry he couldn't buy it. He seemed to think it might still be sold." "Surely you've got enough! And, for my part, I should much prefer the Priory. It's muggy down there in the valley--though I believe it's a very fine house." "You've not been there?"