aymond," he whispered, earnestly. "Raymond."

A tremor passed over the face. The lips moved. The homeless, lingering
soul came back, and looked for the last time fixedly and searchingly at
him out of the dying eyes, and then--seeing no help for it--went
hurriedly on its way, leaving the lips parted to speak, leaving the
deserted eyes vacant and terrible, until after a time Charles closed
them.

He had gone without speaking. Whatever he had wished to say would remain
unsaid forever. Charles laid him down, and stood a long time looking at
the set face. The likeness to Raymond seemed to be fading away under the
touch of the Mighty Hand, but the look of Ruth, the better look,
remained.

At last he turned away and went out, stopping to wake the old nurse,
heavily asleep in the passage. His horse was brought round for him from
somewhere, and he mounted and rode away. He had no idea how long he had
been there. It must have been many hours, but he had quite lost sight of
time. It was still dark, but the morning could not be far off. He rode
mechanically, his horse, which knew the road, taking him at its own
pace. The night was cold, but he did not feel it. All power of feeling
anything seemed gone from him. The last two days and nights of suspense
and high-strung emotion seemed to have left him incapable of any further
sensation at present beyond that of an intense fatigue.

He rode slowly, and put up his horse with careful absence of mind. The
eastern horizon was already growing pale and distinct as he found his
way in-doors through the drawing-room window, the shutter of which had
been left unhinged for him by Ralph, according to custom when either of
them was out late. He went noiselessly up to his room, and sat down.
After a time he started to find himself still sitting there; but he
remained without stirring, too tired to move, his elbows on the table,
his chin in his hands. He felt he could not sleep if he were to drag
himself into bed. He might just as well stay where he was.

And as he sat watching the dawn his mind began to stir, to shake off its
lethargy and stupor, to struggle into keener and keener consciousness.

There are times, often accompanying great physical prostration, when a
veil seems to be lifted from our mental vision. As in the Mediterranean
one may glance down suddenly on a calm day, and see in the blue depths
with a strange surprise the sea-weed and the rocks and the fretted sands
below, so also