Her memory of him was kind and tender, and for months after his death the occasional sight of some object associated with him brought the tears to her eyes.

She often wished he could walk into the room in his old way, and begin talking of the thousand and one bits of town gossip that interested him.

But the first feeling of desolation soon passed, for he had not been more than a companion; she could analyse every memory she had of him to its source and reason.

There was not in her that passionate unformulated yearning for him that comes upon a loving heart when its fellow is taken away, and which alone is a proof that love has been real and true.

She soon grew accustomed to his absence.
To marry again--every one would say she would be right--to marry and to be the mother of children, of brave sons and noble girls,--ah yes! that was a new thought, a wonderful thought, one of many that were wonderful.
Then, again, her strong nature suddenly rose in a new sense of strength, and she paced the room slowly with a strange expression of sternness upon her beautiful features.
"I am a power in the world," she said to herself, almost starting at the truth of the thought, and yet taking delight in it.