Year: 1868

its myself, | saw at glance there wa
something wrong. My principal was
good fellow, but, like the rest of us, hi
temper was not the most certain in tn
world. Sometimes he came looking blacl
and gloomy, and sometimes my step wa
not as light and jaunty as it should have
been. But we pulled very we'll together
The end of the official day found us as
happy as any two released government
clerks in the service, and the very best o.
friends.


When my principal looked up from hi:
papers that morning, | saw in an instant
that his gloominess did not proceed from q
disordered liver, or result from sleepes:
night, consequent on an extra glass o1
wine the evening before His TEN per was
not ruffied. He was sad


[ said to myself, as L nodded to him
and passed to my desk, that l should soon
find out what depressed him, for never
were two men more confidential than my
good old principal and myself


On this occasion, however, he did not
wait to be pumped, as usual. He took up
the supplement sheet of the Times, and
throwing it across to me, merely said, Poor
fellow


l began at the " Births"


think | laughed little when my eve
caught the following paragraph:


- On the 30th inst, the wife of G.. Ire
vor, Esq, of SON.


1t was Lent, and there were few mar
rlages-none, at any rate, that interested
me. | was just about to burst out with
some wild bit of extravaganza apropos of
old Sharkey's melancholy face, when an
other paragraph in far more gloomy sec
tion OF the paper attracted my attention:


ION the Both inst, the beloved wife of
c. Trevor, Esq, aged twenty-eight"


This was indeed sad news. 1 knew
Charles Trevor well, had known him, in
deed. since the day on which he first
made his appearance in the office, bright
faced, beardless boy, fresh from school, and
consequently first in the competition before
the dreaded commissioners in Deans Yard,
Westminster


\ year ago Charley Trevor had mar
ried. We thought him a fool for his
pains, and limited as much as delcately
a. we could. But he was infatuated-off
his head altogether; a good fellow as ever
lived the kind of man that many a wo-
man would have nodded Unto something su-
periativey good in the way of men but he
fell in love with woman with strange
green eyss and thin lips, and married her.


[ was present at the wedding-Char-
ley's best man, in fact; but somehow or
other from the time he was engaged until
he was married, we were not such firm
friends as in the old days, and after the
wedding | saw very little of him indeed


| had dined with them once, and during
that one evening L persuaded myself of
three facts; first of all | confessed to my
self that | did not like Mrs Trevor Sec
ondly, that Mrs Trevor did not like her
husband, and thirdly, that my friend idol
lied his wife


And now, within one short year of
their wedding, [ stood with the paper in
my hand, and read therein that Charley
Trevor was a father and widower.


| knew of course what was my duty
my painful duty felt that | ought to
90 at once to my friend and try and COM
fort him. Charley Trevor was not the
sort of man that should be left alone after
such an awful blow as this. Highly SEN
sitive, nervous, passionate and impetuous,
his was the kind of grief most painful for
man to suffer, and most terrible for man to
witness


Men have such different ways of show
ing their sorrow, that these little matters
Of friendship become occasionally very
delicate matters. To some, the sight of
well known face is soothing in the extreme,
and an opportunity for confidence and con-
ISOLATION goes halfway toward a cure
while others prefer to hide themselves
away, to shut themselves up with their
sorrow in some lonely room apart from
every one in the world, no matter how
friendly,and resent an approach to them as
an insult. They feel that no one can ap-
preciate their agony, and that it is an i'm
pertlnence TO attempt to alleviate 1t with
kindness and affection.


However it was my duty, and | went in
the dark of the day on which | had heard
of my friends loss to try and comfort him.
! was certainly not prepared to find him
as | did. Hehad suffered awfully,I could
see that but his suffering seemed to be
the result of rage rather than despair
There was not that fearful expression of
countenance, speaking more eloquently
than words, Of a void which could never be
replaced.


He was pacing up and down the room
with quick, sharp, angry steps, and notIc
ed that the door had opened and I had en-
tered. He looked at me at first rather
fercely. but his face seemed worn and tir-
ed, like the face of an old man.


e. How good it is of you to come he said
in thick, hoarse voice. Then you know
il all


| replied that had heard of his sad
affiiction.


How good-how good you to come"
And then he broke down.


There was long silence-a silence
which l did not attempt to break, but al
lowed the poor fellow to lean upon the man.
telpiece and sob.


When he had recovered little and
looked up at me, his face seemed quite
changed. All the anger had disappeared;
the fierce fire had gone out of his eyes, and
then, heart-broken indeed, he said


. Do you think | loved that dead wom-
up stairs ?"


In an instant, from that one sentence and
the manner in which it was spoken, all my
private doubts and uncertain fears assumed
real shape, and | felt that l was destined
TO hear a dreadful story. l will tell this
story as he told it to me in the house to
which he had brought his wife only a year
ago, and from which she was soon to be
carried away and buried out of sight.


She was my cousin, he began; {" sup
pose you know that. We began by play
ing al making love, when we we're boy and