I cannot for a moment blame . It is rigian: yet it breaks my !” And tears guso  her head low over her work.

    “e are no fat her,” she murmured,

    At t moment a little accident supervened, o prove trut “misfortunes never come singly,” and to add to tresses t. Joter. ered.

    “Our uncle John is dead,” said he.

    Boters seemed struck: not sidings appeared in tous ting.

    “Dead?” repeated Diana.

    “Yes.”

    Sed a searc then?” she demanded, in a low voice.

    “ taining a marble immobility of feature. “ thing. Read.”

    ter into , and  to Mary. Mary perused it in silence, and returned it to  eachree smiled—a dreary, pensive smile enough.

    “Amen! e can yet live,” said Diana at last.

    “At any rate, it makes us no han we were before,” remarked Mary.

    “Only it forces ratrongly on ture of s it someoo vividly  IS.”

    ter, locked it in  out.

    For some minutes no one spoke. Diana turned to me.

    “Jane, you  us and our mysteries,” sed beings not to be more moved at tion as an uncle; but  of y in tion t ruined ual recrimination passed beted in anger, and erakings: it appears une of ty t ourselves and one ot more closely related t one for o us; t letter informs us t o tion, ion of ty guineas, to be divided bet. Jo, of course, to do as  a momentary damp is cast on ts by t of suceemed ourselves rico St. Jo would o do.”

    tion given, t o it by eiters. t day I left Marson. ter, Diana and Mary quitted it for distant B-