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'He does not suffer now,' were Audrey's first words, as she laid him gently down and gave her last solemn kiss. When Michael put his arm round her and led her gently away, she offered no resistance.
'I must leave you for a little while, dear,' he said, as he stood beside her a moment; 'but I will send Mollie to you.'
Then she begged that she might be left alone.
'Her mother will want her; and I would rather, much rather, be alone.'
Then, when Michael had gone, she laid her head down on Cyril's writing-table, and the tears had their way. Until now she had not thought of herself; but now it seemed to her as though the world had grown suddenly cold and dark. He had loved her—oh, how well he had loved her!—and now the Divine will had taken him from her!
But Audrey wept less for herself than for that bright young life cut off so mysteriously in its early bloom, before its youthful promise had come to maturity. But as her tears flowed, certain words she had often read recurred to her mind, and comforted her:
'For honourable age is not that which standeth in length of time, nor that is measured by number of years.
'But wisdom is the gray hair unto men, and an unspotted life is old age.