murmured the last two lines:

"'But the wearie never win back
To their ain countrie.'"

Phoebe, for it was she who was singing, hushed her song as she reached
her lady's door, and knocked softly. The countess unlocked the door to
admit her.

"It is only the mail bag, my lady, that old Jovial has just brought from
the post office," said the girl.

Lady Hurstmonceux listlessly looked over its contents. Several years of
disappointment had worn out all expectation of hearing from the only one
of whom she cared to receive news. There were home and foreign
newspapers that she threw carelessly out. And there was one letter at
the bottom of all the rest that she lifted up and looked at with languid
curiosity. But as soon as her eyes fell upon the handwriting of the
superscription the letter dropped from her hand and she sank back in her
chair and quietly fainted away.

Phoebe hastened to apply restoratives, and after a few minutes the
lady recovered consciousness and rallied her faculties.

"The letter! the letter, girl! give me the letter!" she gasped in eager
tones.

Phoebe picked it up from the carpet, upon which it had fallen, and
handed it to her mistress.