ad
about ten minutes.

"She never spoke after you left her, Archibald. There was a slight
struggle at the last, a fighting for breath, otherwise she went off
quite peacefully. I felt sure, when I first saw her this afternoon, that
she could not last till midnight."

CHAPTER XLVII.

I. M. V.

Lord Mount Severn, wondering greatly what the urgent summons could be
for, lost no time in obeying it, and was at East Lynne the following
morning early. Mr. Carlyle had his carriage at the station--his close
carriage--and shut up in that he made the communication to the earl as
they drove to East Lynne.

The earl could with difficulty believe it. Never had he been so utterly
astonished. At first he really could not understand the tale.

"Did she--did she--come back to your house to die?" he blundered. "You
never took her in? I don't understand."

Mr. Carlyle explained further; and the earl at length understood. But he
did not recover his perplexed astonishment.

"What a mad act to come back here. Madame Vine! How on earth did she
escape detection?"

"She did escape it," said Mr. Carlyle. "The strange likeness Madame Vine
possessed to my first wife did often strike me as being marvelous, but
I never suspected the truth. It was a likeness, and not a likeness, for
every part of her face and form was changed except her eyes, and those I
never saw but through those disguising glasses."

The earl wiped his hot face. The news had ruffled him no measured
degree. He felt angry with Isabel, dead though she was, and thankful
that Mrs. Carlyle was away.

"Will you see her?" whispered Mr. Carlyle as they entered the house.

"Yes."

They went up to the death-chamber, Mr. Carlyle procuring the key. It was
the only time that he entered it. Very peaceful she looked now, her pale
features so composed under her white cap and hands. Miss Carlyle and
Joyce had done all that was necessary; nobody else had been suffered
to approach her. Lord Mount Severn leaned over her, tracing the former
looks of Isabel; and the likeness grew upon him in a wonderful degree.

"What did she die of?" he asked.

"She said a broken heart."

"Ah!" said the earl. "The wonder is that it did not break before. Poor
thing! Poor Isabel!" he added, touching her hand, "how she marred her
own happiness! Carlyle, I suppose this is your wedding ring?"

Mr. Carlyle cast his eyes upon the ring. "Very probably."

"To think of her never having discarded it!" rem