would have saved his dear life! . . . But no--it was not allowed! God is
a jealous God; and that happiness was not for him and me!'

All possibilities were over; the meeting was stultified. Yet it was
almost visible to her in her fantasy even now, though it could never be
substantiated -

'The hour which might have been, yet might not be,
Which man's and woman's heart conceived and bore,
Yet whereof life was barren.'

* * * * *

She wrote to the landlady at Solentsea in the third person, in as subdued
a style as she could command, enclosing a postal order for a sovereign,
and informing Mrs. Hooper that Mrs. Marchmill had seen in the papers the
sad account of the poet's death, and having been, as Mrs. Hooper was
aware, much interested in Mr. Trewe during her stay at Coburg House, she
would be obliged if Mrs. Hooper could obtain a small portion of his hair
before his coffin was closed down, and send it her as a memorial of him,
as also the photograph that was in the frame.

By the return-post a letter arrived containing what had been requested.
Ella wept over the portrait and secured it in her private drawer; the
lock of hair she tied with white ribbon and put in her bosom, whence she
drew it and kissed it every now and then in some unobserved nook.

'What's the matter?' said her husband, looking up from his newspaper on
one of these occasions. 'Crying over something? A lock of hair? Whose
is it?'