Of course it was Lance, after his duty by his fellow-mourners had been done, and he had seen them off to Bexley. He had no one to pace the cloister with, and the organ had been the chief solace and exponent of his sorrows and his yearnings. Poor Lance, who must henceforth work for himself instead of his brother, and turn out Pursuivants, for which at present he only cared because any deterioration therein would be treason to that Editor who had worked at them with loving conscientious might. The whole bequest, so justly earned as all felt it to be, was heartless and distasteful; he was disgusted to find himself a man of substance, and not only his fellow-citizens, but Fulbert had distressed him by congratulations. Fulbert had employed his time at Bexley in falling in love with Lizzie Bruce, and had therefore kept close to her father all this time, and finally driven him to the station in the dog-cart; and it was rather an effort to Lance to listen amiably to the raptures of prosperous love; above all, when he had just missed the glance, hand-pressure and farewell, which however mournful and indifferent this would have probably been, his heart and soul hungered and thirsted after. He had fancied Dr. May and his daughter would stay for luncheon, and had missed their departure by exhibiting little Gerald to some of Edgar's old friends, and the loss of the one moment he had anticipated with a throb of pleasure depressed him more than was reasonable. And yet!—There was nothing for it but to try to soothe his spirit with the harmonies that often seemed to him all he cared to live for, and fortunately there was a musical pupil teacher always looking about in the hope that Mr. Lancelot would want his services to blow for him.

He played till the bell began for even-song, and, one after another, an unusually full congregation began to drop in, including even two of the Miss Hepburns. The service was shared between old Mr. Harewood and Mr. Fulmort, only glad to relieve the three overwrought clergy who had borne the brunt of this Epiphany tide. Clement's paleness and depression were evident enough now, though still against his will.

'Angela, my dear,' he said, overtaking her in the hall, as she was going upstairs, 'Wilmet has asked for you to come and help Sister Constance in Alda's place. If you can fetch what you want at once, I will put you over.'

'O, thank you!' she cried, flushing with colour at the unexpected boon, as well as at the soft gentleness of his tone, which had of late in their hours of nursing been apt to be quick, stern, and decisive towards her, partly from his own repressed grief, partly from her habit of repelling his advances.

'You had better let me,' said Lance, as she ran upstairs. 'You are pretty well what Gerald calls used up.'

'Thank you, I wish to do this,' said Clement. 'O Lance, Dr. May and his daughter asked especially after you, and told me to give you their good-byes. And here,' lowering his voice, 'here is something I was bidden to give you.'

Lance looked at the address, and carried it quickly upstairs. It was one of Felix's neat envelopes with the crest and motto, and the address to L.O. Underwood Esq., in the familiar writing, just such as those which he had been wont to receive by hundreds. Within was a note with a still fragrant spray of dried myrtle. The contents were:

August 20th, 1872.
MY DEAREST LANCEY BOY,

I do not want to make the business a burthen and a tie to you. You have slaved enough at uncongenial and solitary drudgery for my sake. I would not ask you to go on with it on any account. I only beg you to wait one half year, and if by that time you see no prospect of what would sweeten your labours, then do as you judge best about disposing of it, and using the proceeds as you please. I know you will provide against my poor Pur falling into hands that might sully or pervert such testimony as it is able to bear. For the rest, let it be as your judgment and wishes guide you. But be patient and not discouraged. I have ascertained that there will be no opposition from the father, and I am mistaken if you do not succeed at last. I dare not pray for any earthly boon, the sense of ignorance in asking becomes so much deepened, but if I prayed for anything definite it would be for that reward for you. As it is, I venture only to ask that joys and blessings the highest and the sweetest may be showered on you, my very dear brother; you who came to help me in the time of greatest need, and whose whole life has been a continual sacrifice of taste, enterprise, and ambition for my sake. If Clement is my chief aid in this present pass, it is you to whom I have owed the most through life, and I cannot believe I shall ever become insensible to it. Perhaps there will be no leave-taking. If not, take this as mine, and believe, as I do, that we shall still join our voices with Angels and Archangels, and all the company of Heaven; and look on to the day when for the sake of the Lamb who was slain our praise may be perfected. God bless you, my dear Lance, and bring us both to meet in that everlasting Home where there is no parting.

My love to dear old Mrs. Froggatt.

Give your Daisy this myrtle spray when she is yours, and with it a brother's love from me.

Believe me ever
Your grateful and loving brother,
F.C. UNDERWOOD.

And while Lance stood in his room, drinking in with his eyes these words of affection, Angela upon the moonlit river was craving Clement's pardon for all her manifold transgressions against him.

'My dear,' he answered in a deep, sad, but sweet voice, 'I have quite as many errors against you for which to reproach myself.'