ace was not disguised then; the
moonlight shone full upon it, and I knew it, after the first few moments
of terror, to be, in dreadful truth, the _living_ one of Lady Isabel. My
lady, come away! We shall have Mr. Carlyle here."

Poor thing! She sank upon her knees, in her humility, her dread. "Oh,
Joyce, have pity upon me! don't betray me! I will leave the house;
indeed I will. Don't betray me while I am in it!"

"My lady, you have nothing to fear from me. I have kept the secret
buried within my breast since then. Last April! It has nearly been too
much for me. By night and by day I have had no peace, dreading what
might come out. Think of the awful confusion, the consequences, should
it come to the knowledge of Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle. Indeed, my lady, you
never ought to have come."

"Joyce," she said, hollowly, lifting her haggard face, "I could not keep
away from my unhappy children. Is it no punishment to _me_, think you,
the being here?" she added, vehemently. "To see him--my husband--the
husband of another! It is killing me."

"Oh, my lady, come away! I hear him; I hear him!"

Partly coaxing, partly dragging her, Joyce took her into her own room,
and left her there. Mr. Carlyle was at that moment at the door of the
sick one. Joyce sprang forward. Her face, in her emotion and fear, was
of one livid whiteness, and she shook as William had shaken, poor child,
in the afternoon. It was only too apparent in the well-lighted corridor.

"Joyce," he exclaimed, in amazement, "what ails you?"

"Sir! master!" she panted; "be prepared. Master William--Master
William----"

"Joyce! Not _dead_!"

"Alas, yes, sir!"

Mr. Carlyle strode into the chamber. But ere he was well across it, he
turned back to slip the bolt of the door. On the pillow lay the white,
thin face, at rest now.

"My boy! my boy! Oh, my God!" he murmured, in bowed reverence, "mayest
Thou have received this child to rest in Jesus, even as, I trust, Thou
hadst already received his unhappy mother!"

CHAPTER XLIV.

LORD VANE DATING FORWARD.

To the burial of William Carlyle came Lord Mount Severn and his son.
Wilson had been right in her surmises as to the resting-place. The
Carlyle vault was opened for him, and an order went forth to the
sculptor for an inscription to be added to their marble tablet in the
church: "William Vane Carlyle, eldest son of Archibald Carlyle, of East
Lynne." Amongst those who attended the funeral as mourners went one
mor