rnestly that Heaven of its goodness would
grant the renewal of life to his child, if but for a short time, that
she might prove to her husband that the words he had that night heard
were but the vain babblings of her distempered brain. That she might
live for his, for her child's, for her parents' sake, and during her
life, however short, sweep away the cruel mists of doubt and suspicion
that clung to her hearth.

Fervent and low did that prayer sound in the silence of the
sick-chamber, where all that wealth could spread in profusion was
waiting to minister to the owner's wants. But to those present it
seemed as if the splendour were but a mockery; and the story of Lady
Gernon's life, well known to all, pointed ever to one great void--a void
that no wealth could supply.

Fervent and low grew that prayer in the silence of that night, till, as
the Rectors lips parted to give utterance to those sublime words of
humility and resignation, "Thy will be done!" a sob choked his
utterance, and, save a low, weary wail from the stricken mother, all was
for a long space still.

The shaded lamp made the hangings of the bed to disport themselves in
strange shadows upon wall and carpet; and at times, when the night
breeze softly swept round the house, it was as though the spirits of air
were waiting in gathering levee to bear away the newly-freed essence to
a happier realm. No word was spoken; only at times the Doctor bent over
the bed to moisten his patient's lips from a glass in his hand. The
pendule ticked softly upon the mantel-piece, every second beaten off
finding its echo in the listeners' hearts, as it seemed to tell of the
rapid flight of time, and the few brief minutes left to the wretched
sufferer upon the bed. Her wanderings had long since ceased, and to
those who watched, it seemed many times over that the last sigh had been
breathed with those softly-muttered words, which made them start as a
cold shudder ran through their frames. But a warning glance from the
doctor, as he still kept on at intervals of every few minutes moistening
her lips, told that there was still life, and they waited on.

More than once Mrs Elstree's head had turned, full of expectancy,
towards the door, for she thought that Sir Murray would return; but he
came not; and at last, feeling it to be an act of duty to send for him,
she turned to speak to Jane, who, it seemed to her, had been but a few
minutes before sobbing silently in a furthe