Overnight the frost had come. It had taken even the birds by surprise. They hopped forlornly about the paths as though wondering where they would get their breakfast. Robin Greve, idly watching them from the library window, found himself contrasting the cheerful winter landscape with the depressing conditions of the previous day. In wind and rain the master of Harkings had been laid to rest in the quiet little churchyard of Stevenish. The ceremony had been arranged in haste, as soon as the coroner’s jury had viewed the body. Robin Greve, that morning arrived from Rotterdam, Bude, and Mr. Bardy the solicitor, had been the only mourners. As Robin looked out upon the wintry scene, his mind reverted to the hurried funeral with its depressing accompaniment of gleaming umbrellas, mud from the freshly turned clay, and dripping trees. Beneath the window of the library, its shattered pane now replaced, a cluster of starlings whistled gaily, darting bright-eyed glances, full of anticipation, at the closed window. “_He_ used to give them crumbs every morning after breakfast,” said Mary. “See, Robin, how they are looking up! It seems a shame to disappoint them....” As though relieved to be quit of his dark thoughts, Robin, with a glad smile, turned to the girl. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he produced a hunk of bread and put it in her hand. “You think of everything!” she said, smiling back at him prettily. He pushed up the window and she crumbled the bread for the birds. He rested one hand on her shoulder. “He thought of everything, too,” was his comment, “even down to the birds. It’s extraordinary! No detail was too small for him!...” “He _was_ remarkable, Robin,” answered the girl soberly; “there was something magnetic about his personality that made people like him. Even now that he is dead, even in spite of what we know, I can feel his attraction still. And the whole house is impregnated with his personality. Particularly this room. Don’t you feel it? I don’t mind being here with you, Robin, but I shouldn’t like to be here alone. I was dreadfully frightened on Sunday evening when I came here. And when I saw the curtains move ... oh! I thought my heart would stop beating! Dear, I’m glad we are giving this place up. I don’t feel that I could ever be happy here ... even with you!” “Poor devil!” said Robin. And then again he said: “Poor devil!” “It was terrible ... to die like that!” replied Mary. “It was terrible for him to lose _you_!” answered the young man. She gave his hand a little, tender squeeze, but relinquished it quickly as the door opened.