The evening drew on. No sound was to be heard in the little cottage exceptthe ticking of the wheezy clock, as Dyce kept her solitary vigil by theside of the man she loved. She knelt beside his pillow, and, for hersake, Pompey made haste to die. As the shadows of the evening were fleeingbefore the heralds of the dawn, she saw the gray shadow which no earthlylight has power to chase away fall swiftly over his face.

He opened his eyes and spoke in a rapturous whisper. "Dyce! Dyce! I seede Lord!"

The evening broke. Dyce still knelt on with her face buried in thepillow; the asthmatic clock still kept on its tireless race; butPompey's happy spirit had forever swept beyond the bounds of time.

* * * * *

The humble funeral was over. The Hildreth carriage, behind whosecurtained windows sat Dyce and Evadne, had followed close after thehearse. The Judge had strode behind.

"So uncalled for!" Mrs. Hildreth exclaimed in an annoyed tone when, she heardof it. Your father never _will_ learn to have a proper regard for _lesconvenances_."

"Uncalled for!" ejaculated Louis. "I'll venture to say the Judge willnever have a chance to follow such a brave man again."

"He sent his carriage. That was all that was necessary."

"Doubtless Dyce finds that superlative honor a perfect panacea for hergrief," exclaimed Louis sarcastically. "It is eminently fitting that Brutusand Caesar should have strode as chief mourners for they have lost thetruest friend they ever had."