Beyond the Rocks

"I shall tell him no such thing," said her step-mother, kindly, "because

I don't believe it is true. You are not well, dear child, and I am

worried about you."

But Theodora assured her that she was, and all was as it should be, and

nothing further could be got out of her; so they kissed and wished each

other good-night. And Jane Fitzgerald, left to herself, heaved a great

sigh.

Next day, after this cheery pair had gone, things seemed to take a

deeper gloom.

The mention of Hector's name and whereabouts had roused Theodora's

dormant sorrows into activity again; and with all her will and

determination to hide her anguish, Josiah could perceive an added note

of pathos in her voice at times and less and less elasticity in her

step.

Once he would have noticed none of these things, but now each shade of

difference in her made its impression upon him.

And so the time wore on, their hearts full of an abiding grief.

When October set in Josiah caught a bad cold, which obliged him to keep

to his bed for days and days. He did not seem very ill, and assured his

wife he would be all right soon; but by November, Sir Baldwin Evans, who

was sent for hurriedly from London, broke it gently to Theodora that her

husband could not live through the winter. He might not even live for

many days. Then she wept bitter tears. Had she been remiss in anything?

What could she do for him? Oh, poor Josiah!

And Josiah knew that his day was done, as he lay there in his splendid,

silk-curtained bed. But life had become of such small worth to him that

he was almost glad.

"Now, soon she can be happy--my little girl," he said to himself, "with

the one of her class. It does not do to mix them, and I was a fool to

try. But her heart is too kind ever to quite forget poor old Josiah

Brown."

And this thought comforted him. And that night he died.

Then Theodora wept her heart out as she kissed his cold, thin hand.

When they got the telegram in New York at Mrs. Fitzgerald's mansion,

Hector was just leaving the house, and Captain Fitzgerald ran after him

down the steps.

"My son-in-law, Josiah Brown, is dead," he said. "My wife thought you

would be interested to hear. Poor fellow, he was not very old

either--only fifty-two."

Hector almost staggered for a moment, and leaned against the gilded

balustrade. Then he took off his hat reverently, while he said, in his

deep, expressive voice: "There lived no greater gentleman."