"I had to tell her!" he exclaimed. "She did not bear it as well as we hoped. I am afraid I have killed her."
Ah! grief seldom kills. If it did, this fair world would not have so many of us striving, busy atoms struggling for its possession.
She came back to life again, lying still and white in Lulu's loving arms. Captain Clendenon and his mother went out and left them together. They would not intrude on the sore heart whose wound they could not heal.
"After all we can hope still," Lulu said, cheerily. "All is uncertainty and mere conjecture. We can still hope on, until something more definite is known."
"Hope," repeated the listener, mournfully.
"Hope, yes," was the firm reply. "Hope and pray. One of Brother Willie's favorite maxims is that hope springs eternal in the human breast!"
"I can bear it," came softly from the other. "I have borne so much, I can still endure. With God's help I will be patient under all."
"Whom He loveth He chasteneth," answered Lulu.
When New Year's Day came with its social gayeties, receptions, and friendly calls, one of Lulu's latest and most surprising visits was from our old friend, Bruce Conway. He had not called on her for a long time, and she had heard that he was in Washington. The warm blood suffused her face as she stood alone in the parlor, with his card in her hand, and it grew rosier as he entered, and with his inimitable, indolent grace, paid the compliments of the season.