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sary to live—very necessary. And after all, he is your cousin.”

“I will not believe it. I simply will not believe it. You cannot die!”

“You must stay with the Governor until you can meet your cousin, Tell him the exact standing of the matter; no fawning—but do not be too proud. Remember he is your own blood cousin, even though he is a robber.” His heavy breathing filled the room. Elizabeth had begun to cry softly, like a child who cannot quite tell whether or not it is hurt. Finally words were forced from Sir Edward's lips.

“I have heard that you can tell a gentleman by the way he dies—but I should like to groan. Robert would have groaned if he had wished. Of course, Robert was queer—but then—he was my own brother—he would have shrieked if he had felt like it. Elizabeth, will you—please—leave the room. I am sorry—but I must groan. Never speak of it— Elizabeth—you promise—never—never to speak of it?”

And when she came again, Sir Edward Morgan was dead.

Spring had come to Cambria, welling up out of the Indies and out of the hot, dry heart of Africa, and this the fifteenth Spring since Henry went away. Old Robert liked to think, and then came curiously to believe, that his son sent the Spring