CHAPTER XXX 450
a moment blame him for it. It is right, noble, Christian: yet it breaks my heart!" And the tears gushed to her fine eyes. Mary bent her head low over her work.
" We are now without father: we shall soon be without home and brother," she murmured,
At that moment a little accident supervened, which seemed decreed by fate purposely to prove the truth of the adage, that " misfortunes never come singly," and to add to their distresses the vexing one of the slip between the cup and the lip. St. John passed the window reading a letter. He entered.
" Our uncle John is dead," said he.
Both the sisters seemed struck: not shocked or appalled; the tidings appeared in their eyes rather momentous than afflicting.
" Dead?" repeated Diana. " Yes."
She riveted a searching gaze on her brother ' s face. " And what then?" she demanded, in a low voice.
" What then, Die?" he replied, maintaining a marble immobility of feature. " What then? Why-- nothing. Read."
He threw the letter into her lap. She glanced over it, and handed it to Mary. Mary perused it in silence, and returned it to her brother. All three looked at each other, and all three smiled-- a dreary, pensive smile enough.
" Amen! We can yet live," said Diana at last.
" At any rate, it makes us no worse off than we were before," remarked Mary.