ing back to her eyes, where it had seemed frozen at
first.

"And you love me? I was sure of it to-night. That was my chiefest glory.
Lacking that, what would the homage of all the world be to Rachael
Closs? I was thinking this, when _that_ seemed to start up before me,
and whispering to myself, 'He loves me! he loves me! he loves me!' like
a young girl; for I have seemed very young to-night. Why not? A glorious
life lies before us. You will now step more fearlessly forward, and take
your place among the great men of the earth,--while I--I will be
anything; charm stones, work miracles, to win popularity and lay it at
your feet.

"Say that you love me once more, Norton, and then I will creep back to
my pillow, the proudest and happiest woman on earth--for, after all, it
was only a picture!"

Rachael Closs had hardly done speaking when a cry of distress rang
through the neighboring corridor, the door of Lord Hope's chamber was
flung open, and a pallid face looked in.

"Come--come at once! My lady is dying!"

Round to other rooms came that cry of terror, arousing those two
girls--the one from her sleep, the other from her mournful vigil--and
drawing the family together, in pale groups, into the tower-chamber.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER.

The old countess was not dying, but dead. Hannah Yates, who had watched
her faithfully, did not know when the last faint breath left her lips;
but she became conscious of a solemn stillness which settled upon the
room, and bending forward, saw that soft gray shadows had crept over
that gentle face, up to the hair of silky snow, and down to the slender
throat, till it was lost in the purple splendor of that festive robe.

There she lay, tranquil as a sleeping child, with a calm, holy smile
breaking through the shadows, and her little hands meekly folded over
the gossamer lace on her bosom.

Upon a marble table close by lay the jewels she had worn--a glittering
and neglected heap of fire, which gave out more light than the shaded
lamps that threw their beams brightly on them, and shed tender moonlight
on that lovely old face.

The family were slowly gathering in that death-chamber, where Clara and
Caroline were clinging together in bitter grief, and old Mrs. Yates was
kneeling with her face buried in the purple of her mistress' robe.

Lord Hope came in at last, followed by Lady Hope, who, even in that
solemn place, could not suppress her pride as her ey