and never forgotten--the walls of the vault of the chapel of the De
Crequys in Saint Germain l'Auxerrois; and there the two last of the
Crequys laid them down among their forefathers, and Madame de Crequy had
wakened to the sound of the great door, which led to the open air, being
locked upon her--I say Medlicott, who was predisposed by this dream to
look out for the supernatural, always declared that Madame de Crequy was
made conscious in some mysterious way, of her son's death, on the very
day and hour when it occurred, and that after that she had no more
anxiety, but was only conscious of a kind of stupefying despair."

"And what became of her, my lady?" I again asked.

"What could become of her?" replied Lady Ludlow. "She never could be
induced to rise again, though she lived more than a year after her son's
departure. She kept her bed; her room darkened, her face turned towards
the wall, whenever any one besides Medlicott was in the room. She hardly
ever spoke, and would have died of starvation but for Medlicott's tender
care, in putting a morsel to her lips every now and then, feeding her, in
fact, just as an old bird feeds her young ones. In the height of summer
my lord and I left London. We would fain have taken her with us into
Scotland, but the doctor (we had the old doctor from Leicester Square)
forbade her removal; and this time he gave such good reasons against it
that I acquiesced. Medlicott and a maid were left with her. Every care
was taken of her. She survived till our return. Indeed, I thought she
was in much the same state as I had left her in, when I came back to
London. But Medlicott spoke of her as much weaker; and one morning on
awakening, they told me she was dead. I sent for Medlicott, who was in
sad distress, she had become so fond of her charge. She said that, about
two o'clock, she had been awakened by unusual restlessness on Madame de
Crequy's part; that she had gone to her bedside, and found the poor lady