We are all sadly cut up. Everybody loved him. It was dreadful next
day at dinner, when his chair was empty. The very sailors cried at not
finding him.

First of all, I thought I ought to write to his wife. I know where she
lives; it is called Kent Villa, Gravesend. But I was afraid; it might
kill her: and you are so good and sensible, I thought I had better write
to you, and perhaps you could break it to her by degrees, before it gets
in all the papers.

I send this from the island, by a small vessel, and paid him ten pounds
to take it.

Your affectionate cousin,

TADCASTER.


Words are powerless to describe a blow like this: the amazement, the
stupor, the reluctance to believe--the rising, swelling, surging horror.
She sat like a woman of stone, crumpling the letter. "Dead!--dead?"

For a long time this was all her mind could realize--that Christopher
Staines was dead. He who had been so full of life and thought and
genius, and worthier to live than all the world, was dead; and a million
nobodies were still alive, and he was dead.

She lay back on the sofa, and all the power left her limbs. She could
not move a hand.