r kindness," said Pauline, gravely.

"Yes, you do; and you will do better with your uncle's wealth than I
have done. I have only been dead in life. My heart was broken--and I
have had no strength, no energy. I have done literally nothing; but you
will act differently, Pauline--you are a true Darrell, and you will keep
up the true traditions of your race. In my poor, feeble hands they have
all fallen through. If Sir Vane returns, you will marry him; and, oh! my
darling, I wish you a happy life. As for me, I shall never see the sun
set again."

The feeble voice died away in a tempest of tears; and Pauline,
frightened, made haste to speak of something else to change the current
of her thoughts.

But Lady Darrell was right. She never saw the sun set or the moon rise
again--the frail life ended gently as a child falls asleep. She died the
next day, when the sun was shining its brightest at noon; and her death
was so calm that they thought it sleep.

She was buried, not in the Darrell vault, but, by Pauline's desire, in
the pretty cemetery at Audleigh Royal. Her death proved no shock, for
every one had expected it. Universal sympathy and kindness followed her
to her grave. The short life was ended, and its annals were written in
sand.

Lady Hampton had given way; her old dislike of Pauline had changed into
deep admiration of her sweet, womanly virtues, her graceful humility.

"If any one had ever told me," she said, "that Pauline Darrell would
have turned out as she has, I could not have believed it. The way in
which she devoted herself to my niece was wonderful. I can only say that
in my opinion she deserves Darrell Court."

The legacy made Lady Hampton very happy; it increased her income so
handsomely that she resolved to live no longer at the Elms, but to
return to London, where the happiest part of her life had been spent.

"I shall come to Darrell Court occasionally," she said, "so that you may
not quite forget me;" and Pauline was surprised to find that she felt
nothing save regret at parting with one whom she had disliked with all
the injustice of youth.

A few months afterward came a still greater surprise. The lover from
whom Miss Hastings had been parted in her early youth--who had left
England for Russia long years ago, and whom she had believed
dead--returned to England, and never rested until he had found his lost
love.

In vain the gentle, kind-hearted lady protested that she was too old to
marry--t