What a noble girl she was, bearing her troubles so patiently, and confiding them to no human soul! Then he was compelled to go to Beechgrove--it was long since he had been there, and so much required attention, he was obliged to go, sorely against his will, for he dreaded the sight of the place, haunted as it was by the remembrance of the love and sorrow of his young wife.

He avoided going as long as possible, but the place needed the attention of a master.
It was June when he went--bright, smiling, perfumed, sunny June--and Beechgrove was at its best; the trees were in full foliage, the green woods resounded with the song of birds, the gardens were filled with flowers, the whole estate was blooming and fair.

He took up his abode there.

It was soon noticed in the house that he avoided the picture-gallery--nothing ever induced him to enter it.

More than once, as he was walking through the woods, his heartbeat and his face flushed; there, beyond the trees lived his wife, his darling, from whom a fate more cruel than death had parted him.