Mrs. Tremaine went to Angela’s room to assist her in putting up the few articles she could carry in her portmanteau. Angela, already dressed in her riding habit, sat before her dressing table, her long fair hair being plaited down her back, as when she was a little girl, by Mammy Tulip, for no hairpins could hold that mass of hair during a twenty-mile ride. Mrs. Tremaine was perfectly calm. She had received a mortal blow, as mothers do when called to give up a child, but she had, in a way, recovered the son until then lost to her. She spoke tenderly of Neville, sending him messages, and, sitting at Angela’s table, wrote him a few lines eloquent with a mother’s love. “It seems to me,” said Angela, with tender superstition, as Mrs. Tremaine handed her the letter to Neville, “that Richard’s spirit must have spoken for Neville, and since I must be the bearer of such heavy grief to Neville as Richard’s death will be, isn’t it good of God that I should, at the same time, be able to tell him that you and his father forgive him and love him?” “God is ever good,” replied Mrs. Tremaine. She had a deep and consistent piety, which had never, until the breaking out of the war, had any real test, but it sufficed her when the moment came in which all faith, all love, is tested. Madame Isabey and Adrienne had kept to themselves that day, except for joining the funeral procession to Richard’s grave. They rightly judged that there was little room for strangers in those heartbreaking hours, and although their sympathy was deep with those under whose roof they lived, they lacked the means and even the language in which to express it. Angela went to their rooms to bid them farewell. Madame Isabey, whose heart was deeply sympathetic, kissed her and wept over her. Adrienne could not remain unshaken by those tragic and fateful hours which had seen two sons taken from Harrowby, one by death and one by war, and another restored, at least in affection. For the first time in their lives Angela and Adrienne kissed each other. Adrienne had scarcely spoken a word to Isabey during that whole sad day. It was to her as if she saw his shade and not the real man moving about, helpful to others, forgetful of his own grief, and only remotely conscious of Adrienne’s presence. From her window, as the moon rose, she saw Angela and Isabey mount and ride away. The deep blue heavens were gloriously starred, while a faint rosy glow still lingered on the western edge of the world.