WORK They had planned the future so carefully that there was a pitiless irony in the next turn of the screw--for when they tried to awaken Archibald Fowler in the morning, he did not stir, and they realized presently, with the rebellious shock such tragedies always bring, that he had died in the night--that all that he had stood for, the more than thirty years of work and struggle, had collapsed in an hour.

When the first grief, the first excitement, was over, and life began to flow quietly again in its familiar currents, it was discovered that the crash of his fortune had occurred on the day of his son's flight and disgrace, and that the two shocks, coming together, had killed him.

While they sat in the darkened house, surrounded by the funereal smell of crape, the practical details of living seemed to matter so little that they scarcely gave them a thought.

Not until weeks afterwards, when Patty and Billy had sailed for France, and Mrs.Fowler, shrouded in widow's weeds, had gone South to her old home, did Gabriella find strength to tear aside the veil of mourning and confront the sordid actuality.

Then she found that the crash had buried everything under the ruins of Archibald Fowler's prosperity--that nothing remained except a bare pittance which would insure his widow only a scant living on the impoverished family acres.
For the rest there was nothing, and she herself was as poor as she had been in Hill Street before her marriage.
Walking back from the station after bidding her mother-in-law a tearful and tender good-bye, she tried despairingly to gather her scattered thoughts and summon all her failing resources; but in front of her plans there floated always the pathetic brightness of Mrs.Fowler's eyes gazing up at her from the heavy shadow of the crape veil she had lifted.
So that was the end--a little love, a little hope, a little happiness, and then separation and death.