us, are made to us in
sickness, when we lie, where I have been lying, in the valley of the
shadow of death. I know that he was guilty, and that he died in his
sin. I know it now, Pauline."

Miss Darrell bent over her and kissed the white brow.

"Listen to me, dear," continued the weak voice. "Let this secret die
with us--let there be a bond between us never to reveal it. You will
never tell any one about it, will you, Pauline?"

"No," she replied, "never. I should never have told you but that I hoped
to save you from a dreadful fate--and it would have been a dreadful fate
for you to have married him; he would have broken your heart."

"It is broken now," she said, gently. "Yet it comforts me to know that
no reproach will be heaped on Aubrey's memory."

"You will get better," observed Pauline, hopefully, "and then there will
be happier days in store for you."

"There will be no happy days for me," returned Lady Darrell,
sorrowfully. "You see, Pauline, I loved him very dearly--more dearly
than I knew. I had never loved any one very much until I saw him. I
could more easily have checked a raging fire than have restrained my
love after I had once given it. My life had in some way passed into his,
and now I do not care to live."

"But you have so much to live for," said Pauline.

"Not now. I do not care for aught about me. I have tried to remember
Darrell Court and all my wealth and grandeur, but they give me no
pleasure--the shadow of death lies over all."

And it was all in vain that Pauline tried to rouse her; Lady Darrell,
after her unhappy love, never cared to be roused again. Lady Hampton
would not think seriously of her illness--it would pass away in time,
she said; but Miss Hastings shook her head gravely, and feared the
worst.

The time came when Pauline told some part of her story to the governess.
She did not mention Aubrey's crime--that secret she kept until
death--but she gave a sketch of what had passed between her and Lady
Darrell.

"Did I do right?" she asked, with that sweet humility which had
vanquished all pride in her.

"You acted worthily," replied Miss Hastings, while she marveled at the
transformation which love had wrought in that once proud, willful girl.

Time passed on, and by the wish of Miss Hastings a celebrated physician
was sent for from London, for Lady Darrell grew no better. His opinion
sounded somewhat like a death-warrant.

"She may recover sufficiently to quit her room