The absent one came in at last, and with so much of the old, frank, loving spirit in his voice and manner, that the troubled heart of Mrs. Claire beat with freer pulsations.  And yet something about her husband appeared strange.  There was a marked difference between his state of mind now, and on the evening before.  Even at dinner-time he was silent and abstracted.

In fact, Edward Claire was, for the first time, acting a part toward his wife; and, as in all such cases, there was sufficient over-action to betray the artifice, or, at least, to awaken a doubt.  Still, Edith was greatly relieved by the change, and she chided herself for having permitted doubt and vague questionings to find a harbour in her thoughts.

During tea-time, Claire chatted freely, as was his custom; but he grew serious as they sat together, after the table was cleared away, and Edith had taken her sewing.  Then, for the first time, he thought out of himself sufficiently to remember his visit to the house of death in the morning, and he said—­

“I witnessed something this morning, dear, that has made me feel sad ever since.”

“What was that, Edward?” inquired the wife, looking instantly into his face, with a strongly manifested interest.

“I don’t think you knew Mr. Elder or his family—­Ruben Elder?”

“I have heard the name, nothing more.”

“Mr. Elder died last week.”

“Ah!  What family did he leave?”

“A wife and one child.”

Mrs. Claire sighed.

“Did he leave them comfortably off in the world?” she asked, after a brief silence.

“I don’t know; but I’m afraid, he’s not left much, if any thing.  Mr. Jasper has been appointed the executor.”

“Mr. Jasper!”

“Yes.  This morning he called to see Mrs. Elder, and found her in a very low state.  In fact, she died while he was there.”

“Edward!  Died?”

“Yes, died; and her only child, a sweet little girl, not five years old, is now a friendless orphan.”

“How very sad!”

“Sad enough, Edith, sad enough.  Mr. Jasper, who has no taste for scenes of distress, wished me to look after the funeral arrangements; so I went to the house, and attended to matters as well as I could.  Ah me!  It has cast a gloom over my feelings that I find it hard to cast off.”

“Did you see the child?” inquired Mrs. Claire, the mother’s impulse giving direction to her thoughts.

“Yes; and a lovely child it is.  Poor thing!”

“There are near relatives, I presume?”

“None; at least, so Jasper says.”

“What is to become of the child?”

“Dear above knows!  As for her legal guardian, she has nothing to hope from his humanity.  She will naturally find a home somewhere—­a home procured for money.  But her future comfort and well-being will depend more on a series of happy accidents than on the good-will of the hard-hearted man to whose tender mercies the dying parents have committed her.”