After all, the dreaded influenza epidemic did not make its appearance, and, though people still talked learnedly of germs and microbes, and put meddling fingers into the medical pie, it was decided by the legitimate authorities that the mischief had blown over for the present.
It is a curious fact that there is a fashion even in talk. A subject is discussed until it is worn thread-bare. When the germ theory was exhausted the bicycle craze took its place. Perhaps future students of hieroglyphics may yet discover in some palimpsest that in old days the Egyptian maidens had quaint iron machines that carried them swiftly through the desert.
In the early March days, when the winds were keen and blusterous, Mr. Williams died; his end was very sudden.
Greta had just retired to her room for the night when the nurse noticed a change in him and hastily summoned her. A messenger was sent for Dr. Luttrell, but before he could reach the house Mr. Williams was dead.
He could have done nothing if he had been there. That was the sole comfort Marcus could give to the stricken daughter, and she knew that he spoke the truth.
The bow of the king of terrors is never drawn at a venture. The arrow goes deep and true, but to Greta and Olivia he was only the angel of sorrow, who did his master's bidding. Alwyn in after years worked out this idea in a noble picture called the "House of Mourning."
The little one, evidently the sole child and heir of a goodly heritage, lay panting out his feeble life on the pillow. The broken-hearted parents bent over him hand in hand. The filmy look of unshed tears in the mother's eyes was wonderfully rendered. On the threshold stood a kingly presence, in dark trailing robes of majesty and a starry crown on his head. The face, solemn and beautiful, wore an expression of infinite pity; the arms were stretched out to the child with a gesture of tenderness.
Underneath was written those striking words: "Is it well with the child?" and the answer, "It is well." It was that picture that made Alwyn Gaythorne's name.
Olivia hurried round to Brunswick Place as soon as her husband broke the news to her, and spent the greater part of each day there for the next week or two.
It was touching to see how the poor girl clung to her friends; she would do nothing without their advice.