“I’m a chap that wants very little,” he said once.  “Those who want little, get nothing.”

That was all he said, but Bernardine knew to whom he referred.

To-day, as Bernardine was on her way back to the Kurhaus, she was thinking constantly of Mrs. Reffold, and wondering whether she ought to be made to realize that her husband was becoming rapidly worse.  Whilst engrossed with this thought, a long train of sledges and toboggans passed her.  The sound of the bells and the noisy merriment made her look up, and she saw beautiful Mrs. Reffold amongst the pleasure-seekers.

“If only I dared tell her now,” said Bernardine to herself, “loudly and before them all!”

Then a more sensible mood came over her.  “After all, it is not my affair,” she said.

And the sledges passed away out of hearing.

When Bernardine sat with Mr. Reffold that afternoon she did not mention that she had seen his wife.  He coughed a great deal, and seemed to be worse than usual, and complained of fever.  But he liked to have her, and would not hear of her going.

“Stay,” he said.  “It is not much of a pleasure to you, but it is a great pleasure to me.”

There was an anxious look on his face, such a look as people wear when they wish to ask some question of great moment, but dare not begin.

At last he seemed to summon up courage.

“Little Brick,” he said, in a weak low voice, “I have something on my mind.  You won’t laugh, I know.  You’re not the sort.  I know you’re clever and thoughtful, and all that; you could tell me more than all the parsons put together.  I know you’re clever; my wife says so.  She says only a very clever woman would wear such boots and hats!”

Bernardine smiled.

“Well,” she said kindly, “tell me.”

“You must have thought a good deal, I suppose,” he continued, “about life and death, and that sort of thing.  I’ve never thought at all.  Does it matter, Little Brick?  It’s too late now.  I can’t begin to think.  But speak to me; tell me what you think.  Do you believe we get another chance, and are glad to behave less like curs and brutes?  Or is it all ended in that lonely little churchyard here?  I’ve never troubled about these things before, but now I know I am so near that gloomy little churchyard—­well, it makes me wonder.  As for the Bible, I never cared to read it, I was never much of a reader, though I’ve got through two or three firework novels and sporting stories.  Does it matter, Little Brick?”

“How do I know?” she said gently.  “How does any one know?  People say they know; but it is all a great mystery—­nothing but a mystery.  Everything that we say, can be but a guess.  People have gone mad over their guessing, or they have broken their hearts.  But still the mystery remains, and we cannot solve it.”

“If you don’t know anything, Little Brick,” he said, “at least tell me what you think:  and don’t be too learned; remember I’m only a brainless fellow.”