Save for that charred remnant, there was nothing left for the flame to consume.
And so through all the bitter years he had borne that smiling face upon his wall, cynically indifferent to the beauty which had been the rapture and the agony of his life,--a man released from the place of his torment because his capacity for suffering was almost gone.
Again there were two children's voices singing, and that of the shy angel gathered confidence.

With a species of scoffing humour Sir Beverley's stony eyes travelled to the window.

They rested upon his boy standing there with bent head--a mute, waiting figure with a curious touch of pathos in its pose.

Sir Beverley's sudden frown drew his forehead.

What ailed the youngster?
Why did he stand as if the whole world were resting on his shoulders?
He made an impatient movement.