“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,”