it will only make you grieve more

“Let nothing be disturbed, dear mamma,” she had said ever so many times, when her mother was writing her orders to the housekeeper. “Beg them to keep everything just as it was in papa’s time.”































“My dear, .”































“Yes; but I had rather grieve for him than forget him . I am more afraid of forgetting him than of grieving too much for him,” said Vixen.































And now, as she stood on the hearth after her journey, wrapped in black furs, a little black fur toque crowning her ruddy gold hair, fancy filled the empty chair as she gazed at it. Yes, she could see her father sitting there in his hunting-clothes, his whip across his knee.































The old pointer, the Squire’s favourite, came whining to her feet . How old he looked! Old, and broken, and infirm, as if from much sorrow .































“Poor Nip! poor Nip!” she said, patting him. “The joy of your life went with papa, didn’t it?”































“It’s all very sad,” murmured Mrs. Tempest, loosening her wraps. “A sad, sad home-coming. And it seems only yesterday that I came here as a bride. Did I ever tell you about my travelling-dress, Violet? It was a shot-silk — they were fashionable then, you know — bronze and blue — the loveliest combination of colour!”































“I can’t imagine a shot-silk being anything but detestable,” said Vixen curtly. “Poor Nip! How faithful dogs are! The dear thing is actually crying!”































Tears were indeed running from the poor old eyes, as the pointer’s head lay in Vixen’s lap; as if memory, kindled by her image, brought back the past too keenly for that honest canine heart.































“It is very mournful,” said Mrs. Tempest. “Paulinehk luxury apartments for rent, let us have a cup of tea.”































She sank into an arm-chair opposite the fire. Not the squire’s old carved oak-chair, with its tawny leather cushions. That must needs be sacred evermore — a memento of the dead, standing beside the hearth, revered as the image of an honoured ancestor in a Roman citizen’s home.