had stood by the altar rails. A soft, subdued light came streaming in
through the coloured glass window; a bird was chirping high up somewhere
among the oak rafters of the roof, the roar of the street without was
muffled and deadened; the old woman slammed-to the door of a pew, the
echo rang with a hollow sound through the empty building, and her
departing footsteps shuffled away down the aisle into silence.

Vera lifted her eyes; great tears welled down slowly, one by one, over
her cheeks--burning, blistering tears, such as, thank God, one sheds but
once or twice in a lifetime--that seem to rend our very hearts as they
rise.

Presently she sank down upon her knees and prayed--prayed for him, that
he might be happy and forget her, but most of all for herself, that she
might school her rebellious heart to patience, and her wild passion of
misery into peace and submission.

And by degrees the tempest within her was hushed. Then, ere she rose from
her knees, something lying on the ground, within a yard of where she
knelt, caught her eye. It was a little Russia-leather letter-case. She
recognized it instantly; she had often seen Maurice take it out of his
pocket.

She caught at it hungrily and eagerly, as a miser clutches a
treasure-trove, pressing it wildly to her bosom, and covering it with
passionate kisses. Dear little shabby case, that had been so near his
heart; that his hand, perchance, only on hour ago had touched. Could
anything on earth be more priceless to her than this worn and faded
object!