your wife is in danger; you had better come and see her."

Even he--the doctor--accustomed to scenes of sorrow and desolation was
startled by the cry of pain that came from the young man's lips.




Chapter II



Five o'clock! The chimes had played the hour, the church clock had
struck; the laborers were going to the fields, the dairy-maids were
beginning their work; the sky had grown clear and blue, the long night
of agony was over. The Angel of Death had spread his wings over the
doctor's house, and awaited only the moment when his sword should fall.

Inside, the scene had hardly changed. The light of the lamp seemed to
have grown so ghostly that the nurse had turned it out, and, drawing the
blinds, let the faint morning light come in. It fell on the beautiful
face that had grown even whiter in the presence of death. Lady
Charlewood was dying; yet the feeble arms held the little child tightly.
She looked up as her husband entered the room. He had combated by a
strong effort all outward manifestations of despair.

"Hubert," whispered the sweet, faint voice, "see, this is our little
daughter."

He bent down, but he could not see the child for the tears that filled