k; the sky had grown clear and blue, the long night
of agony was over. The Angel of Death had spread his wings over the
doctor's house, and awaited only the moment when his sword should fall.

Inside, the scene had hardly changed. The light of the lamp seemed to
have grown so ghostly that the nurse had turned it out, and, drawing the
blinds, let the faint morning light come in. It fell on the beautiful
face that had grown even whiter in the presence of death. Lady
Charlewood was dying; yet the feeble arms held the little child tightly.
She looked up as her husband entered the room. He had combated by a
strong effort all outward manifestations of despair.

"Hubert," whispered the sweet, faint voice, "see, this is our little
daughter."

He bent down, but he could not see the child for the tears that filled
his eyes.

"Our little daughter," she repeated; "and they say, Hubert, that I have
given my life for hers. Is it true?"

He looked at the two doctors; he looked at the white face bearing the
solemn, serene impress of death. It would be cruel to deceive her now,
when the hands that caressed the little child were already growing
colder.

"Is it true, Hubert?" she repeated, a clear light shining in her dying
eyes.

"Yes, my darling, it is true," he said, in a low voice.

"I am dying--really dying--when I have my baby and you?" she questioned.
"Oh, Hubert, is it really true?"

Nothing but his sobs answered her; dying as she was, all sweet, womanly
compassion awoke in her heart.

"Hubert," she whispered--"oh, my darling, if you could come with me!--I
want to see you kiss the baby while it lies here in my arms."

He bent down and kissed the tiny face, she watching him all the time.

"You will be very kind to her, darling, for my sake, because you have
loved me so much, and call her by my name--Madaline. Tell her about me
when she grows up--how young I was to die, how dearly I loved you, and
how I held her in my arms. You will not forget?"

"No," he said, gently; "I shall not forget."

The hapless young mother kissed the tiny rosebud face, all the passion
and anguish of her love shining in her dying eyes; and then the nurse
carried the babe away.

"Hubert," said Lady Charlewood, in a low, soft, whisper, "may I die in
your arms, darling?"

She laid her head on his breast, and looked at him with the sweet
content of a little child.

"I am so young," she said, gently, "to die--to leave you Hubert. I have
be