interest in him. But through the whole of his visit she never lost her
gracious self-possession. The Dudley race might well be proud of the
last of its daughters, as she lay dying, but unconquered by the feeling
of the present or the fear of the future.

As for Mr. Bernard, he found it very hard to look upon her and listen to
her unmoved. There was nothing that reminded him of the stormy-browed,
almost savage girl he remembered in her fierce loveliness,--nothing of
all her singularities of air and of costume. Nothing? Yes, one thing.
Weak and suffering as she was, she had never parted with one particular
ornament, such as a sick person would naturally, as it might be
supposed, get rid of at once. The golden cord which she wore round her
neck at the great party was still there. A bracelet was lying by her
pillow; she had unclasped it from her wrist.

Before Mr. Bernard left her, she said,--"I shall never see you again.
Some time or other, perhaps, you will mention my name to one whom you
love. Give her this from your scholar and friend Elsie."

He took the bracelet, raised her hand to his lips, then turned his face
away; in that moment he was the weaker of the two.

"Good-bye," she said; "thank you for coming."

His voice died away in his throat, as he tried to answer her. She
followed him with her eyes as he passed from her sight through the door,
and when it closed after him sobbed tremulously once or twice,--but
stilled herself, and met Helen, as she entered, with a composed
countenance.