slowly past her.

"There was no hope from the first," he said.

The next day Dick was taken up with the preparations for the funeral. The
distant aunt, who appeared to be Darrow's only relation, had been duly
notified of his death; but no answer having been received from her, it was
left to his friend to fulfil the customary duties. He was again absent for
the best part of the day; and when he returned at dusk Mrs. Peyton, looking
up from the tea-table behind which she awaited him, was startled by the
deep-lined misery of his face.

Her own thoughts were too painful for ready expression, and they sat for a
while in a mute community of wretchedness.

"Is everything arranged?" she asked at length.

"Yes. Everything."

"And you have not heard from the aunt?"

He shook his head.

"Can you find no trace of any other relations?"

"None. I went over all his papers. There were very few, and I found no
address but the aunt's." He sat thrown back in his chair, disregarding the
cup of tea she had mechanically poured for him. "I found this, though," he
added, after a pause, drawing a letter from his pocket and holding it out
to her.