wandered. She found herself at last in
a place she recognized. It was Squire Raby's lawn. The moon had just
risen, and shone on the turf, and on the little river that went curling
round with here and there a deep pool.

She crept nearer, and saw the great bay-window, and a blaze of light
behind it.

There she had sung the great Noel with her father; and now he was dead
and gone.

There she had been with Henry Little, and seen him recognize his
mother's picture; and now he was dead and gone. She had saved his life
in vain; he was dead and gone. Every body was dead and gone.

She looked up at the glowing window. She looked down at the pool, with
the moon kissing it.

She flung her arms up with a scream of agony, and sunk into the deep
pool, where the moon seemed most to smile on it.

Directly after dinner Dr. Amboyne asked to see the unhappy
correspondence of which he was to be the judge.

Raby went for the letters, and laid them before him. He took up the
fatal letter. "Why, this is not written by Mrs. Little. I know her neat
Italian hand too well. See how the letters slant and straggle."

"Oh! but you must allow for the writer's agitation."

"Why should I allow for it? YOU DIDN'T. Who can look at this scrawl,
and not see that the poor heart-broken creature was not herself when
she wrote it? This is not a letter, it is a mere scream of agony. Put
yourself in her place. Imagine yourself a woman--a creature in whom
the feelings overpower the judgment. Consider the shock, the wound, the
frenzy; and, besides, she had no idea that you left this house to get
her husband the money from your own funds."

"She never shall know it either."

"She does know it. I have told her. And, poor thing, she thinks she was
the only one to blame. She seeks your forgiveness. She pines for it.
This is the true cause of her illness; and I believe, if you could
forgive her and love her, it might yet save her life."

"Then tell her I blame myself as much as her. Tell her my house, my
arms, and my heart are open to her. Amboyne, you are a true friend, and
a worthy man. God bless you. How shall we get her here, poor soul? Will
you go for her, or shall I?"

"Let me sleep on that," said Dr. Amboyne.

In the course of the evening, Dr. Amboyne told Raby all the reports
about Jael Dence and Henry Little.

"What does that matter now?" said Raby, with a sigh.

Whenever a servant came into the room, Amboyne asked him if Jael had
arr