“Your affectionate cousin,
                                                       “M.  A. T. U.”

There were long letters to Dolores, dictated to Lida-—all in the same spirit.  One of them said, “Go bravely on, my Dolores; though we do not live together in our bicycle-roving castles.  You will do good work if you uphold the glory of God and the improvement of man, all through creation and science.  I should like to talk it over with you.  Things are plainer to me than in the days of my inexperience and cocksureness.  Short as the time was, in months, it showed me much more, especially my own inefficiency to deal with the great problems of these times, perhaps of all times.  Remember this, but go on-—if we do but put grains of sand into the great Edifice.”

More was written, but these were the most memorable extracts, before the letter that told that something like a fresh stroke had come, and taken away the power of distinct speech, then that the throat had failed, and there was only one foreboding more to be told, and soon realized.  The young ardent spirit, trained by so short a discipline, had passed away in peace.  And they laid him beside his father, whose better spirit he had unconsciously evoked, and whom he had loved so deeply.  The doctors said that the real cause of his death had been the Indian bullet, inflicting injury on the spine, which the elasticity of youth had for the time overcome, but which manifested itself again under overstrain.  Ferdinand, when he awoke the child back to life, had given him years not spent in vain for himself or for others.

It would have been utter desolation to the little sister save for the motherly tenderness of Marilda, who took her to the home in the Rocky Mountains, and would fain have adopted her, but that Lida, acting perhaps on advice from her brother, only begged to be so educated as to fit her to be independent, and to be given a start in life.  It would be shown in a year or two whether her vocation should be musical or scholastic.

Gerald had his meed of tears at home, but not bitter ones.  Nay, those that had the most quality of bitterness were Emilia’s, shed in secret lest interpretations should be put on those that had the quality of remorse, as she recollected the high aspirations that had ended so differently in the two cousins.

Dolores dried hers, to feel a consecration on her studies and her labours as she grew forward to the fulfilment of her purpose of being a leading woman in the instruction and formation of young minds, working all the better for the inspiriting words and example, and the more gently and sympathizingly for the love that was laid up in her heart.

She and his “Cherie” came to have a great affection and understanding of each other, and discussed what Dolores called “ethics” with warm interest, the elder lady bringing the old and sacred lights to bear on the newer theories.