d, would God have mercy on her
wretched soul?

His faith in Providence was no jagged, quivering reed, but a strong,
staunch, firm staff that had never yet failed him, and in this hour of
severe trial he leaned his aching heart confidently and calmly upon
it.

That some mysterious circumstances veiled the earlier portion of Mrs.
Gerome's life, he had inferred from Elsie's promise of confidence, and
since death denied her the desired revelation, he had put imagination
upon the rack, in order to solve the riddle.

What could the old nurse wish to tell him, that she was unwilling to
divulge until her latest breath? Could the stain of crime cling to
that pale face on the pillow, or to those white hands that rested so
helplessly in his? Had she soiled her life by any deed that would
bring a blush to those thin sunken cheeks, or a flush of shame to the
brow of the man who loved her? Now bending fondly over her, the
language of his heart was,--

"Let her dead past bury its dead! Let the bygone be what it may,--come
sorrow, come humiliation, but I will dauntlessly shield her with my
name, defend her with my strong arm, uphold her by my honor, save her
soul by my prayers, comfort and gladden her heart with my deathless
love."

He was well aware that this night must decide her fate,--that her
feeble frame could not much longer struggle with the disease that had
almost vanquished it,--and leaning his forehead against her hand, he
silently prayed that God would speedily restore her to health, or give
him additional grace to bear the bitter bereavement.

She slept more quietly than she had been able to do for some days, and
Dr. Grey sent for Robert, who was pacing the walk that led to the
stables. They sat down together on the steps at the rear of the house,
and the gardener asked in a frightened, husky tone,--

"Is there bad news?"

"I see little change since noon, except that she is more quiet, which
is certainly favorable; but she is so very ill that I thought it best
to consult you about several matters. Do you know whether she has made
a will?"

"No, sir. How should I know it, even if she had?"

"Who is her agent?"

Robert hesitated, and pretended to be busy filling and lighting his
pipe.

"Maclean, I have no desire to pry into Mrs. Gerome's affairs, but it
is necessary that those who direct or control her estate should be
appraised of her condition. It is supposed that her fortune is ample,
and her heirs shoul