“For who can tell”—­she would say to herself—­“what strange confusion and sorrow they may be suffering!—­away from all that they once knew and cared for!  Even if prayers cannot help them it is kind to pray!”

And for her mother’s soul she felt a dim and far-off sense of pity—­almost a fear, lest that unsatisfied spirit might be lost and wandering in a chaos of dark experience without any clue to guide or any light to shine upon its dreadful solitude.  So may the dead come nearer to the living than when they also lived!

Some three or four weeks after Lady Blythe’s sudden exit from a world too callous to care whether she stayed in it or went from it, Lord Blythe called at Miss Leigh’s house and asked to see her.  He was admitted at once, and the pretty old lady came down in a great flutter to the drawing-room to receive him.  She found him standing in front of the harpsichord, looking at the portrait upon it.  He turned quickly round as she entered and spoke with some abruptness.

“I must apologise for calling rather late in the afternoon,” he said—­“But I could not wait another day.  I have something important to tell you—­” He paused—­then went on—­“It’s rather startling to me to find that portrait here!—­I knew the man.  Surely it is Pierce Armitage, the painter?”

“Yes”—­and Miss Leigh’s eyes opened in a little surprise and bewilderment—­“He was a great friend of mine—­and of yours?” “He was my college chum”—­and he walked closer to the picture and looked at it steadfastly—­“That must have been taken when he was quite a young man—­before—­” He paused again,—­then said with a forced smile—­“Talking of Armitage—­is Miss Armitage in?”

“No, she is not”—­and the old lady looked regretful—­“She has gone out to tea—­I’m sorry—­”

“It’s just as well”—­and Lord Blythe took one or two restless paces up and down the little room—­“I would rather talk to you alone first.  Yes!—­that portrait of Pierce must have been taken in early days—­just about the time he ran away with Maude Osborne—­”

Miss Leigh gazed at him enquiringly.

“With Maude Osborne?”

“Yes—­with Maude Osborne, who afterwards became my wife.”

Miss Leigh trembled and drew back, looking about her in a dazed way as though seeking for some place to hide in.  Lord Blythe saw her agitation.

“I’m afraid I’m worrying you!” he said, kindly.  “Sit down, please,”—­and he placed a chair for her.  “We are both elderly folk and shocks are not good for us.  There!”—­and he took her hand and patted it gently—­“As I was saying, that portrait must have been taken about then—­did he give it to you?”

“Yes,” she answered, faintly—­“He did.  We were engaged—­”

“Engaged!  Good God!  You?—­to Pierce?—­My dear lady, forgive me!—­ I’m very sorry!—­I had no idea—­”

But Miss Leigh composed herself very quickly.

“Please do not mind me!” she said—­“It all happened so very long ago!  Yes—­Pierce Armitage and I were engaged—­but he suddenly went away—­and I was told he had gone with some very beautiful girl he had fallen head over ears in love with—­and I never saw him again.  But I never reproached him—­I—­I loved him too well!”