Grey did not answer, but something in the pallor of his face and the expression of his eyes, struck Jack suddenly, and stretching his hand across the table he said, very low and very sadly: 

“Jerrold, you loved her, too.  I see it in your face.”

“Yes,” Grey answered him, “I loved her, too, and would have given years of my life to have saved her, though not for Neil.  Better far as it is—­better for her, I mean, though our lives are wrecked; at least, mine is; but for you there may still be a happy future, and on the ashes of the dead love a new one may arise to bless you.”

“Never!” Jack answered, emphatically; then after a moment, as if his thoughts had followed Grey’s, he asked: 

“Do you know how long Mrs. Meredith intends remaining in Rome, or where she expects to go after leaving there?”

Grey replied that he did not, while a faint smile played round his mouth, as he looked at his friend, who detected the smile, and comprehending its meaning, said, with a heightened color: 

“I know you are thinking of Flossie.  Bessie thought of her, too, and asked why I did not marry her.  But that will never be, though, she is as bright and beautiful an Irish lassie as ever gladdened the eyes of man and the castle is so lonesome without her buzzing about and stirring up things generally, that I have serious thoughts of inviting her grandmother, to take up her abode there, so I can have Flossie back.  The servants adore her.  But she will never be my wife.  She would tire and worry me to death with her restlessness and activity.  When I lost Bessie I lost everything, and have nothing left but her memory—­not even a flower which she has worn.”

Grey hesitated a moment, then taking from his pocket the package which Flossie had given him, he opened it, and holding to view the long silken curl, said to Jack: 

“Flossie cut this from Bessie’s head when the fever was at its height, and though there is not in the world gold enough to buy it from me, I will divide with you,” and parting it carefully he laid one-half of it upon Jack’s hand, around which it seemed to cling with a loving tenacity.  It was strange how vividly that wavy hair brought Bessie back to the young men who had loved her so much, and who, at sight of it, broke down entirely, and laying their heads upon the table, cried for a moment, as only strong men can cry, for the dear little girl who, they felt sure, was lying in her grave in far off Stoneleigh.

CHAPTER IV.

POOR DAISY.