"Never breathed, poor dear: a boy. Poor
missus went off into them fearful convulsions
so soon as he were born, and, since they
be gone off, she have never noticed nor asked
nothing; and Mrs. Baker, she up and telled
her at last as how 'twas gone, thinking to rouse
her; but you might just as well try to rouse a
stone."

"When do you expect Mr. Denbigh?"

"Master can't be here yet awhile," said Isott,
her shrewd old face suddenly assuming an
utterly expressionless stolidity. "By the very
last train to-night, p'raps; but I can't say
no-ways."

"I should like to see her, if I might," said
the lady, advancing into the passage; but Isott
did not move.

"The house to be kept so quiet as possible;
them was our orders," she remarked, looking
straight before her: so decided a hint that Mrs.
Carter could only stop short, and say, as she
prepared to depart,

"Then I must not come in, I suppose? But
if she should get conscious by-and-by, pray
think of me!"

Isott gave her promise with the cheerful
alacrity of a person determined beforehand
to break it; and slowly and sadly Mrs.
Carter turned away. Then Isott, without
returning to the sick room, betook herself to the
parlour, and sat down close to the window,
whence she could see up and down the
lane. It was not very long before the swing of
the gate and the sound of a quick decided step
on the gravel made her look eagerly out, and,
before the bell could ring, she had flung open
the door, and stood face to face with her
master. His upright figure looked more full of
vigour than ever after the exhilaration of his
five miles' walk, and his face was brighter than
usual with the pleasure of returning home.
Walking from Slowcombe by the footpath
across the fields, he had heard no ill tidings,
and, with a hasty nod to Isott, was striding
past her, hurrying to find his wife, when the old
woman seized his arm in a grip which had
a moral if not a physical power in it he could
not resist, drew him into the parlour, and closed
both doors.

"Master Philip," she said, unconsciously
returning to the nursery language of old days,
" 'tis all a come out. There was a gentleman
here last night, and he's telled 'un how Cap'n
Clavering wasn't never drownded at all; and
how he did come home last January was three
year'; and the vicar do know it, and Mrs.
Carter do know it; but they shouldn't a talked
without seeing as the door was fast, when they
was talking about your business, and I not so
very far off.  I made so bold as to open your
letter to missus this mornin', and when I did
see as you was a goin' to start afore you could
get that there telegraph, and get here afore
you was expected, it did zim quite a Providence."

Isott never looked at her master, while she
hurried out these words; she was studying the
hem of her apron, and trying hard to control her
violent trembling. If she had looked up, she
would have seen a grey shade pass over Mr.
Denbigh's always pale face; but his voice was
as steady as ever, as he sternly asked:

"Are you gone out of your mind?"

"No, Master Philip," she said, speaking
more calmly, "that I b'aint, and you do know
as I b'aint, right well. I don't ax no questions
'bout that there stranger as come the night you
knows of. I don't ax ye nothing at all about
it; 'tis all between your conscience and God
A'mighty; but they'll be after ye—they will—
so sure as you be alive—and here's twenty
pounds as Jonathan and I'll never ax ye
for again—and take my advice, do ye now, and
go off—go off to once—that'll pay your
journey—for I do love ye, my dear," she
wound up, bursting into piteous sobs and
tears, "I do love ye. I always did! Oh! don't
ye, don't ye bring my grey hairs wi' sorrow to
the grave."

The pathos of passionate earnestness in the
old woman's voice made a strange contrast
to her master's still self-contained manner.

"Where is your mistress?" he asked, in his
quick hard tone, just pushing away the hand
which Isott held out to him, clutching her hard-
earned savings.

"Missus? Oh, sir, do 'ey go, do 'ey go to
once! 'Tain't no use thinking of missus, sir;
she won't know ye."

"She is ill!" he said; and was striding
to the door, but Isott threw herself between
him and it, and seized his arm again.

"Take my advice, sir, do ye. Poor missus
'on't be here long; but if she could speak, I
know her last words 'ould be, go, go! The
Lord'll take her to hisself, sir, as he have the
poor dear baby; but you, oh, do ye be off to
once, or right or wrong, they'll hang ye, they
will for certain."

He had stood like a man petrified while
she spoke of his wife's state, but when she
recurred to his own affairs he impatiently
interrupted her.

"Let me go to your mistress."

Isott, stalwart old peasant as she was,
found herself thrust aside by one push of his
hand, and he hurried from the room and up
the stairs with long noiseless steps.

There was no sound in the darkened room,
for Mr. Scott, after hours of devoted attendance,
had left the house for a little while,
promising to return to meet the physician who
had been telegraphed for from Briswick. The
old nurse kept watch alone. She rose as the
door was opened, and the husband walked up
to the bedside, and there stood, gazing heart-
stricken at the sight before him. The
convulsions which had racked his wife's frame for
hours, had spent themselves at last, but Philip's
experienced eye saw in a moment that all hope
was gone. He saw that there was death in
the heavy nerveless attitude of the straightened
limbs, death in the laboured breath, death in
the white face. The nurse, struck with pity