“Tell me more,” he said, at every pause.

“I think I have told you all now,” said Maggie, at last.  “At least, it is all I recollect at present; but if I think of anything more, I will be sure and tell you.”

“Thank you; do.”  He was silent for some time.

“Erminia is coming home at Christmas.  She is not to go back to Paris again.  She will live with us.  I hope you and she will be great friends, Maggie.”

“Oh yes,” replied she.  “I think we are already.  At least we were last Christmas.  You know it is a year since I have seen her.”

“Yes; she went to Switzerland with Mademoiselle Michel, instead of coming home the last time.  Maggie, I must go, now.  My father will be waiting dinner for me.”

“Dinner!  I was going to ask if you would not stay to tea.  I hear mamma stirring about in her room.  And Nancy is getting things ready, I see.  Let me go and tell mamma.  She will not be pleased unless she sees you.  She has been very sorry for you all,” added she, dropping her voice.

Before he could answer, she ran up stairs.

Mrs. Browne came down.

“Oh, Mr. Frank!  Have you been sitting in the dark?  Maggie, you ought to have rung for candles!  Ah!  Mr. Frank, you’ve had a sad loss since I saw you here—­let me see—­in the last week of September.  But she was always a sad invalid; and no doubt your loss is her gain.  Poor Mr. Buxton, too!  How is he?  When one thinks of him, and of her years of illness, it seems like a happy release.”

She could have gone on for any length of time, but Frank could not bear this ruffling up of his soothed grief, and told her that his father was expecting him home to dinner.

“Ah!  I am sure you must not disappoint him.  He’ll want a little cheerful company more than ever now.  You must not let him dwell on it, Mr. Frank, but turn his thoughts another way by always talking of other things.  I am sure if I had some one to speak to me in a cheerful, pleasant way, when poor dear Mr. Browne died, I should never have fretted after him as I did; but the children were too young, and there was no one to come and divert me with any news.  If I’d been living in Combehurst, I am sure I should not have let my grief get the better of me as I did.  Could you get up a quiet rubber in the evenings, do you think?”

But Frank had shaken hands and was gone.  As he rode home he thought much of sorrow, and the different ways of bearing it.  He decided that it was sent by God for some holy purpose, and to call out into existence some higher good; and he thought that if it were faithfully taken as His decree there would be no passionate, despairing resistance to it; nor yet, if it were trustfully acknowledged to have some wise end, should we dare to baulk it, and defraud it by putting it on one side, and, by seeking the distractions of worldly things, not let it do its full work.  And then he returned to his conversation with Maggie.  That had been real comfort to him.  What an advantage it would be to Erminia to have such a girl for a friend and companion!