" "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction.
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