ot known why he had clasped her hand so tightly all that night as
she sat beside his couch, he was dead, and with a cry of anguish Louisa
fell insensible beside the lifeless body of her husband.

The moonbeams fell alike upon the inanimate forms of the living and the
dead, and the morning sun rose brightly and she still lay there, none
heard the midnight cry of anguish, or if heard it was unheeded, and the
noisy lamentations of the girl who brought in the morning meal, greeted
her as consciousness returned. The master of the inn said the funeral
must take place at sunset, and Louisa shed bitter tears in the little
room which was given her, while the corpse was being prepared for
interment, for these precipitate funeral arrangements added greatly to
Louisa's grief. Composed but deadly pale she followed Arthur's remains
to the grave--his only mourner; there was no minister to be had, but
Louisa could not see him buried thus, so read herself a portion of the
beautiful burial service of the Episcopal Church, then amid tears and
sobs she watched them pile and smooth the earth above him, and when they
had finished, with a wail of agony she threw herself in a burst of
passionate grief upon the damp earth, and there she lay until darkness
enveloped all around, heedless of danger, of time, of everything but her
deep deep grief, her misery, and her irreparable loss. And there she
would have remained but for Francesca, the girl who had waited on them;
Francesca had some pity for the poor lady, and with a great effort
stifled her superstitious fears, and went down to the grave and led her
away, whispering you will get the fever here. So Louisa returned
desolate indeed to the miserable inn, not for a moment because of the
fear of fever, only dreamily, scarcely knowing where she was going.

Those long hours with the dead had but too surely done their work,
Louisa was attacked with the same fever of which her husband died, but
carelessly tended and neglected as she was, she did not die.

When she was able to go out again, she would sit pensively for hours by
Arthur's grave, or in passionate grief throw herself upon it and wish
that she too might die. It was after one of these paroxysms of despair
that Louisa remembered her promise to Arthur, that she would take his
letter to his father at Barrington Park. Faithful to her word she
reluctantly prepared to depart, when to her dismay she found that a
cheque for a large amount had been ab