"My son," replied the good Father, solemnly, "your sister is where
the wicked may trouble her no more. It is three days now since she
departed from this world of sorrow."

"Oh, had she but lived to see this day," said Ralph Penrose, "her
cares would have been over!"

"Her prayers are answered," said Father Cyril. "Come with me, my
son Eustace, if you would take a last look of her who loved and
trusted you so well."

Eustace followed him to the chamber where the Lady Eleanor Lynwood
lay extended on her bed. Her features were pinched and sharpened,
and bore traces of her long, wasting sufferings, but they still
looked lovely, though awful in their perfect calmness. Eustace
knelt and recited the accustomed prayers, and then stood gazing on
the serene face, with a full heart, and gathering tears in his eyes,
for he had loved the gentle Eleanor with the trusting affection of
a younger brother. He thought of that joyous time, the first
brilliant day of his lonely childhood, when the gay bridal cavalcade
came sweeping down the hill, and he, half in pleasure, half in
shyness, was led forth by his mother to greet the fair young bride
of his brother. How had she brightened the dull old Keep, and given,
as it were, a new existence to himself, a dreamy, solitary boy--how
patiently and affectionately had she tended his mother, and how
pleasant were the long evenings when she had unwearily listened to
his beloved romances, and his visions of surpassing achievements of
his own! No wonder that he wept for her as a brother would weep for
an elder sister.