"Take me to my bed and bring my jewel box," she said, with a shuddering
sigh, as the faithful servant received her with an exclamation of
thankfulness.

When her orders had been obeyed, she drew from her bosom the portrait of
Sir Richard which she always wore, and, removing the ivory oval from the
gold case, she locked the former in a tiny drawer of the casket,
replaced the empty locket in her breast, and bade Hester give the jewels
to Watson, her lawyer, who would see them put in a safe place till the
child was grown.

"Dear heart, my lady, you'll wear them yet, for you're too young to
grieve all your days, even for so good a man as my blessed master. Take
comfort, and cheer up, for the dear child's sake if no more."

"I shall never wear them again" was all the answer as Lady Trevlyn drew
the curtains, as if to shut out hope.

Sir Richard was buried and, the nine days' gossip over, the mystery of
his death died for want of food, for the only person who could have
explained it was in a state which forbade all allusion to that tragic
day.

For a year Lady Trevlyn's reason was in danger. A long fever left her so
weak in mind and body that there was little hope of recovery, and her
days were passed in a state of apathy sad to witness. She seemed to have
forgotten everything, even the shock which had so sorely stricken her.
The sight of her child failed to rouse her, and month after month
slipped by, leaving no trace of their passage on her mind, and but