“Mrs. Reffold” . . . she whispered.

That was all she said:  but it was enough.

Mrs. Reffold burst into an agony of tears.

“Oh, Miss Holme,” she sobbed, “and I was not even kind to him!  And now it is too late.  How can I ever bear myself?”

And then it was that the soul knew its own remorse.

CHAPTER XVII.

A RETURN TO OLD PASTURES.

SHE had left him alone and neglected for whole hours when he was alive.  And now when he was dead, and it probably mattered little to him where he was laid, it was some time before she could, make up her mind to leave him in the lonely little Petershof cemetery.

“It will be so dreary for him there,” she said to the Doctor.

“Not so dreary as you made it for him here,” thought the Doctor.

But he did not say that:  he just urged her quietly to have her husband buried in Petershof; and she yielded.

So they laid him to rest in the dreary cemetery.

Bernardine went to the funeral, much against the Disagreeable Man’s wish.

“You are looking like a ghost yourself,” he said to her.  “Come out with me into the country instead.”

But she shook her head.

“Another day,” she said.  “And Mrs. Reffold wants me.  I can’t leave her alone, for she is so miserable.”

The Disagreeable Man shrugged his shoulders, and went of by himself.

Mrs. Reffold clung very much to Bernardine those last days before she left Petershof.  She had decided to go to Wiesbaden, where she had relations; and she invited Bernardine to go with her:  it was more than that, she almost begged her.  Bernardine refused.

“I have been from England nearly five months,” she said, “and my money is coming to an end.  I must go back and work.”

“Then come away with me as my companion,” Mrs. Reffold suggested.  “And I will pay you a handsome salary.”

Bernardine could not be persuaded.

“No,” she said.  “I could not earn money that way:  it would not suit me.  And besides, you would not care to be a long time with me:  you would soon tire of me.  You think you would like to have me with you now.  But I know how it would be:  You would be sorry, and so should I. So let us part as we are now:  you going your way, and I going mine.  We live in different worlds, Mrs. Reffold.  It would be as senseless for me to venture into yours, as for you to come into mine.  Do you think I am unkind?”

So they parted.  Mrs. Reffold had spoken no word of affection to Bernardine, but at the, station, as she bent down to kiss her, she whispered: 

“I know you will not think too hardly of me.  Still, will you promise me?  And if you are ever in trouble, and I can help you, will you write to me?”

And Bernardine promised.