ne spoke of Hugh Fernely, or connected
him with the occurrence at the Hall.

There was an inquest, and men decided that he had "died by the
visitation of God." No one knew the agony that had cast him prostrate
in the thick, dank grass, no one knew the unendurable anguish that had
shortened his life.

* * * * *

When Lionel returned to the Hall, he went straight to Lord Earle.

"I was too late," he said; "the man had been dead some hours."

His name was not mentioned between them again. Lord Earle never
inquired where he was buried--he never knew.

The gloom had deepened at the Hall. Lillian Earle lay nigh unto death.
Many believed that the master of Earlescourt would soon be a childless
man. He could not realize it. They told him how she lay with the
cruel raging fever sapping her life, but he seemed to forget the living
child in mourning for the one that lay dead.

In compliance with Lionel's prayer, Lady Helena took him into the sick
room where Lillian lay. She did not know him; the gentle, tender eyes
were full of dread and fear; the fair, pure face was burning with the
flush of fever; the hot, dry lips were never still. She talked
incessantly--at times of Knutsford and Beatrice--then prayed in her
sweet, sad voice that Lionel would trust her--only trust her; when
Beatrice was married she would tell him all.

He turned away; her eyes had lingered on his face, but no gleam of
recognition came into them.

"You do not think she will die?" he asked of Lady Helena; and she never
forgot his voice or his manner.

"We hope not," she said; "life and death are in higher hands than ours.
If you wish to help her, pray for her."

In after years Lionel Dacre like to remember that the best and most
fervent prayers of his life had been offered for gentle, innocent
Lillian Earle.

As he turned to quit the chamber he heard her crying for her mother.
She wanted her mother--why was she not there? He looked at Lady
Helena; she understood him.

"I have written," she said. "I sent for Dora yesterday; she will be
here soon."

Chapter XLIII

On the second day succeeding that on which Dora had been sent for,
Beatrice Earle was to be laid in her grave. The servants of the
household, who had dearly loved their beautiful young mistress, had
taken their last look at her face. Lady Helena had shed her last tears
over it. Lord Airlie had asked to be alone for a time with his dead
love.