uld
have chosen for herself, she would have preferred to rest here."

On the western slope, where the warmest and brightest sun beams lay,
under the shade of the rippling lime-trees, they laid Lady Charlewood to
rest. For long years afterward the young husband was to carry with him
the memory of that green grassy grave. A plain white cross bore for the
present her name; it said simply:

In Loving Memory of
MADALINE CHARLEWOOD,
who died in her 20th year.
ERECTED BY HER SORROWING HUSBAND.

"When I give her the monument she deserves," he said. "I can add no
more."

They speak of that funeral to this day in Castledene--of the sad, tragic
story, the fair young mother's death, the husband's wild despair. They
tell how the beautiful stranger was buried when the sun shone and the
birds sang--how solemnly the church-bell tolled, each knell seeming to
cleave the clear sunlit air--how the sorrowing young husband, so
suddenly and so terribly bereft, walked first, the chief mourner in the
sad procession; they tell how white his face was, and how at each toll
of the solemn bell he winced as though some one had struck him a
terrible blow--how he tried hard to control himself, but how at the
grave, when she was hidden forever from his sight, he stretched out his
hands, crying, "Madaline, Madaline!" and how for the remainder of that
day he shut himself up alone, refusing to hear the sound of a voice, to
look at a human face--refusing food, comfort, grieving like one who has
no hope for the love he had lost. All Castledene grieved with him; it
seemed as though death and sorrow had entered every house.

Then came the morrow, when he had to look his life in the face
again--life that he found so bitter without Madaline. He began to
remember his father, who, lying sick unto death, craved for his
presence. He could do no more for Madaline; all his grief, his tears,
his bitter sorrow, were useless; he could not bring her back; he was
powerless where she was concerned. But with regard to his father matters
were different--to him he could take comfort, healing, and consolation.
So it was decided that he should at once continue his broken journey.

What of little Madaline, the child who had her dead mother's large blue
eyes and golden hair? Again Lord Charlewood and the doctor sat in solemn
conclave; this time the fate of the little one hung in the balance.

Lord Charlewood said that if he found his father sti