come under the head of works of supererogation—so my grandfather held—profitless alike in this world and in the next. Indeed, though a strict man himself, I am constrained to believe he would have experienced relief in seeing Mr. Dudley enjoy the pleasures of sin—they are real, very real while they last, unfortunately—for a season."

Laurence flung away the stump of his cigarette, and turned sideways in his chair.

"Now, as we're on the subject," he said, "and as you seem to know all about these people of mine, what sort of fellow was Dudley's younger brother, my namesake, Laurence Rivers?"

"Weel, I have reason to believe he was a very promising sprig—a likely young gentleman, high-spirited, clean-living, and not without a show of capacity for affairs. My grandparents, both of them, entertained a warm affection for him."—The man paused in his slow sing-song talk, smiling.—"I should surmise him to have been much such a person as yourself, Mr. Rivers, with a natural gift of winning the hearts of those brought into contact with him. But he fell at Trafalgar, shot through the lungs, as no doubt you have heard—cut off before he had opportunity to acquaint the world with the worth of the talents that might reside in him. It was a grievous misfortune, for his death took place but three months before the day appointed for his and his cousin's marriage. And often, as a soft-hearted bit of a laddie, I have cried to hear my grandmother tell of the coming of the awful news and the grief of the poor young lady. She was a gracious, winsome thing, as bright as a sunbeam on a running brook; very pious, too, and charitable, so that no mortal soul could but wish her well that looked on her. But she was shivered by the stroke of her sorrow, as you might shiver some fragile trifle of an ornament with a careless blow. She would not eat or speak for many days, and her sleep departed from her. And, indeed, during the few months of life that remained to her she rarely uttered a word. Her poor bits of wits seemed to drain out of her with her tears, for all that she was highly educated, and an accomplished musician and sweet singer."

Laurence had risen to his feet. He stood with his back to the fire, his hands behind him, and his head bent.

"Poor child!" he said softly. "Well, she knew how to love, anyway."

"No woman better; but I am thinking, Mr. Rivers, she introduced into her affections a touch of that same extravagance which pertains to so many members of your family. For my grandmother used to tell me that, though altogether 

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