y knew,
and she turned away lest the sick woman's questioning eyes should read
what her face betrayed.

Three o'clock struck. A sweet voice, abrupt and clear, broke the silence
of the solemn scene.

"Hubert. Where is Hubert? I must see him."

"Tell him to come," said Dr. Evans to Dr. Letsom, "but do not tell him
there is any danger."

A few minutes later Lord Charlewood stood by the side of his young wife.

"Hubert," she said to him, with outstretched hands, "Hubert, my husband,
I am so frightened. They do not tell me the truth. Am I going to die?"

He bent down to kiss her.

"Die, my darling? No, certainly not. You are going to live, to be what
you always have been, the dearest, sweetest wife in the world." And he
believed implicitly[1] what he said.

Then came a strange sleep, half waking, half dreaming. Lady Charlewood
fancied that she was with her husband on the seashore, and that the
waves were coming in so fast that they threatened to drown her, they
were advancing in such great sheets of foam. Once more she clung to him,
crying:

"Help me, Hubert; I shall be drowned--see how the tide is coming in!"

Then the doctor bade him leave her--he must go down to the shabby,
lowly little room, where the gas was burning, and the early dawn of the
morning was coming in. The agony of unrest was on him. He thought how
useless was money, after all; here he was with thousands at his command,
yet he could not purchase help or safety for her whom his soul loved
best. He was helpless, he could do nothing to assist her; he could trust
only to Heaven.

He went from the window to the door; he trembled at the solemn silence,
the terrible hush; he longed for the full light of day. Suddenly he
heard a sound that stirred the very depths of his heart--that brought a
crimson flush to his face and tears to his eyes. It was the faint cry of
a little child. Presently he heard the footsteps of Dr. Letsom; and the
next minute the doctor was standing before him, with a grave look on his
face.

"You have a little daughter," he said--"a beautiful little girl--but
your wife is in danger; you had better come and see her."

Even he--the doctor--accustomed to scenes of sorrow and desolation was
startled by the cry of pain that came from the young man's lips.

Chapter II

Five o'clock! The chimes had played the hour, the church clock had
struck; the laborers were going to the fields, the dairy-maids were
beginning their wor