He might have been able in the course of time to set the whole
occurrence down as a grotesque dream, if he had not now and then beheld
Deacon Twombly driving by the bank with Mary attached to the battered
family carry-all. Mary was a fact not easily disposed of.

Insensibly Lynde lapsed into his old habits. The latter part of this
winter at Rivermouth was unusually gay; the series of evening parties
and lectures and private theatricals extended into the spring, whose
advent was signalized by the marriage of Miss Bowlsby and Preston. In
June Lynde ran on to New York for a week, where he had a clandestine
dinner with his uncle at Delmonico's, and bade good-by to Flemming, who
was on the eve of starting on a protracted tour through the East. "I
shall make it a point to visit the land of the Sabaeans," said Flemming,
with his great cheery laugh, "and discover, if possible, the unknown
site of the ancient capital of Sheba." Lynde had confided the story to
his friend one night, coming home from the theatre.

Once more at Rivermouth, Edward Lynde took up the golden threads of his
easy existence. But this life of ideal tranquillity and contentment was
not to be permitted him. One morning in the latter part of August he
received a letter advising him that his uncle had had an alarming stroke
of apoplexy. The letter was followed within the hour by a telegram
announcing the death of David Lynde.




VI

BEYOND THE SEA