Mr.Boyce sat down and began carefully to put the fire together.

His thin left hand shook upon his knee.
There was a moment's pause of complete silence.

Mrs.Boyce's face might have been seen by a close observer to quiver and then stiffen as she stood in the light of the window, a tall and queenly figure in her sweeping black.

But she said not a word, and presently left the room.
Marcella watched her father.
"Papa--_was_ that a note from Lord Maxwell ?" Mr.Boyce looked round with a start, as though surprised that any one was still there.

It struck Marcella that he looked yellow and shrunken--years older than her mother.