his medical
attendants. They wish to be alone with him, and time is being lost."

She rose up; she placed her hands on her brow, as if to collect the
sense of the words, and then she addressed the doctors,--

"Is it really necessary that I should leave the room--necessary _for
him_?"

"It is necessary, my lady--absolutely essential."

She broke into a passion of tears and sobs as Mr. Carlyle lead her to
another apartment.

"He is my dear father; I have but him in the wide world!" she exclaimed.

"I know--I know; I feel for you all that you are feeling. Twenty times
this night I have wished--forgive me the thought--that you were my
sister, so that I might express my sympathy more freely and comfort
you."

"Tell me the truth, then, why I am kept away. If you can show me
sufficient cause, I will be reasonable and obey; but do not say again I
should be disturbing him, for it is not true."

"He is too ill for you to see him--his symptoms are too painful. In
fact, it would not be proper; and were you to go in in defiance of
advice, you would regret it all your after life."

"Is he dying?"

Mr. Carlyle hesitated. Ought he to dissemble with her as the doctors had
done? A strong feeling was upon him that he ought not.

"I trust to you not to deceive me," she simply said.

"I fear he is--I believe he is."

She rose up--she grasped his arm in the sudden fear that flashed over
her.

"You are deceiving me, and he is dead!"

"I am not deceiving you, Lady Isabel. He is not dead, but--it may be
very near."

She laid her face down upon the soft pillow.

"Going forever from me--going forever? Oh, Mr. Carlyle, let me see him
for a minute--just one farewell! Will you not try for me!"

He knew how hopeless it was, but he turned to leave the room.

"I will go and see. But you will remain here quietly--you will not
come."

She bowed her head in acquiescence, and he closed the door. Had she
indeed been his sister, he would probably have turned the key upon her.
He entered the earl's chamber, but not many seconds did he remain in it.

"It is over," he whispered to Mrs. Mason, whom he met in the corridor,
"and Mr. Wainwright is asking for you."

"You are soon back," cried Isabel, lifting her head. "May I go?"

He sat down and took her hand, shrinking from his task.

"I wish I could comfort you!" he exclaimed, in a tone of deep emotion.

Her face turned of a ghastly whiteness--as white as another's not far
away.