ible shudder to find
that she was singing the old, sweet song:

"I would the grave would hide me,
For there alone is peace."

"I have been mad," she said to herself; "those words drove me mad,
'Lance's little child.'"

She went to her room and bathed her head in ice-cold water. The pain
grew less, but not the burning heat.

The idea became fixed in her mind that she must go back to the old
mill-stream; she did not know why, she never asked herself why; that was
her haven of rest, by the sound of rushing waters. Within sight of the
mill-wheel, and the trees, and the water lilies, all would be well, the
cloud would pass from her mind, the fire from her brain, the sword from
her heart.

She had two letters to write, one to the manager with whom her
engagement expired in two nights, telling him she was ill and had gone
away for her health, and that he would not probably hear of her for some
time; and another to Lord Chandos. It was simple and sad:

"Good-bye. I am going--not to Berlin--but away from Europe, and I
shall never return; but before I leave I shall go to the
mill-stream to look at and listen to the waters for the last time.
Good bye, Lance. In heaven you will know how much I have loved you,
never on earth. In heaven you will know why I have left you. Be
kind, and true, and good to all who are dear to you. Lance, if I
die first, I shall wait inside the golden gates of heaven for you."

She did one thing more, which proved that her reason was still clear.
She paid off all her servants, and to the most trusted one left power to
give up her house in her name, as she was leaving it.

And far off the mill-wheel turned in the stream, and the water-lilies
stirred faintly us the white foam passed them by.

CHAPTER LXII.

"THE GRAVE ALONE GIVES PEACE."

The sun was setting--the western sky was all aflame, great crimson
clouds floated away with vapors of rose and orange--crimson clouds that
threw a rosy light on the trees and fields. In the distance stood the
old farmhouse, the light falling on the roof with its moss and lichen,
the great roses and white jasmine that wreathed the windows, the tall
elms that stood on either side of the fertile meadows, the springing
corn, the ricks of sweet-smelling hay. The light from the western sky
fell on them all. From beneath the tall elms with the trailing scarlet
creepers came a tall, graceful woman, whose face was cove