“I’ve ordered her breakfast to be taken to her room, and sent word to her to rest in bed until I go to her,” his wife replied.  “I have a painful ordeal before me in breaking the news of Robert’s death to her.  It’s all over the hotel already, unfortunately.  Sisily is out of the way of gossip in her room.  After I’ve seen her I shall leave her in your charge, Joseph.  I shall have plenty on my hands to-day.”

Mr. Pendleton received this mandate with a blank face, and momentarily regretted that the arrangements for their departure by the morning’s train had been cancelled.  Then his better nature asserted itself, and he meekly replied that he would do what he could.  “What do you suggest?” he asked.

“Take her for a walk,” responded his wife.  “Try and keep her interested and her mind occupied.”

With these words she left the breakfast table and proceeded upstairs to Sisily’s room before going out.  On the way there she again regretted having undertaken the responsibility of her niece’s future.  She had not disturbed Sisily on the previous night.  She had tried her door on her way to her own room, but it was locked, so she had let the girl sleep on, and deferred breaking the tragic news until the morning.

She now paused outside the door reluctantly.  But she was not the woman to shrink from a duty because it was unpleasant, and womanly sympathy for her unhappy niece banished her diffidence.  She knocked lightly and entered.

Sisily was seated by the window reading.  A breakfast tray, still untouched, stood on a small table beside her.  She put down her book as her aunt entered, and rose to greet her.

Mrs. Pendleton bent over the girl and kissed her, and took her hand.  As she did so she observed that Sisily looked worn and fatigued, with black rings under her eyes, as though she, too, had passed a sleepless night.  But she was wonderfully pretty, the elder woman thought, and nothing could rob her of the fresh charm of youth and beauty.

“Sit down, Sisily,” she said, leading her back to her chair, and taking another one beside her.  “I have sad news for you, dear, and you must be a brave girl.  Something has happened to your father.”

“What has happened?” asked Sisily quickly.  Then, as if taking in the import of her aunt’s tone, rather than her words, she added:  “Do you mean that he is ... dead?”

Mrs. Pendleton inclined her head with tears in her eyes.  “It is worse even than that,” she went on, her voice drooping to a whisper.  “He ... he has been killed.  We found him last night.  Listen, dear, I will tell you all.”

She gave the cold fingers a comforting pressure as she spoke, but the hand was immediately withdrawn, and Sisily sprang away from her, then turned and regarded her with blazing eyes and a white face.

“Tell me about it!” she said.

Mrs. Pendleton imparted as much of the facts as she felt called upon to relate.  There was something about the girl’s reception of the news which puzzled her, and her own look fell before the sombre intensity of her gaze.  Sisily heard the story in silence, and when it was finished, merely said—­