Wife in Name Only

he dairy-maids were beginning their work; the sky had grown clear and blue, the long night of agony was over. The A

he faint morning light come in. It fell on the beautiful face that had grown even whiter in the presence of death. Lady Charlewood was dying; yet the feeble

eet, faint voice, "see, th

not see the child for the

"and they say, Hubert, that I have

olemn, serene impress of death. It would be cruel to deceive her now, w

repeated, a clear light

it is true," he sa

ave my baby and you?" she questione

dying as she was, all sweet, woma

you could come with me!--I want to see you

the tiny face, she wat

, and call her by my name--Madaline. Tell her about me when she grows up--how young I

gently; "I sh

all the passion and anguish of her love shining in he

, in a low, soft, whisper, "ma

t, and looked at him with the

die--to leave you Hubert. I have been

fe!" he groaned, "h

ds softly cla

ther--you will find enough to fill your life. But you will always love me best--I know that, Hubert.

own he felt her lips grow cold and still. Presently he heard one long, deep-drawn sigh. Some on

is child's sake. He tried to rise, but the strength of his manhood failed him. With a cr

lay motionless on the quiet heart. Kindly hands had brushed back the golden-brown hair; some one had gathered purple chrysanthemums and laid them round the dead woman, so that she looked like a m

n flowers in the vases. The baby had been carried away--the kind-hearted nurse had charge of it. Dr. Evans had gone home, haunted by the memory of the beautiful dead face. Th

by my side, life of my life, soul of my soul, dearer to me than all the world, has gone from me, and that I shall see her no more? I cann

of grief. He knew that it must have its way. He sat patiently listening, speaking when he thought a

brain, and lightened the heavy heart. Dr. Letsom was a skillful, kindly man; he let the tears flow, and made no effort to stop them. Then, after a time, disguised in a glass o

ight through, if he can," said Stephen to himself. "He would

the hotel, had gone to the doctors, where the poor lady had died. Deep sympathy and pity were felt and expressed; kind-hearted mothers wept over the babe; some few were allowed to enter the solemn death chamber; and th

f, mad with the sense of his loss. Then the doctor, knowing how one great sorrow counteracts another, spok

wood. "Living or dead, she is dearer than

you to be a brave one; in grief of this kind the first great thing is to regain self-co

ood discerne

er; the blow is so sudden, so terrible, I cannot

f-control he had struggled for

he said, "and have decided on all my plans

ime to spare than he cared to have. He sat down by Lord Charlewood's side

She was so fair, so spirituelle, she loved all nature so dearly; she loved the flowers

up with mild rep

rld," he said. "If ever a dead face told of rest and peac

ls," observed Lord Charlewood--"where grass and flowers grow and birds

in the pretty church-yard here

d, but now a plain white cross will be sufficient, with her name, Madaline Charlewood; and, doctor, while I

its terrors; white daisies and golden buttercups studded it, the dense foliage of tall lime-trees rippled above it. The graves were covered with richly-h

tood looking arou

h in poems, but it is the first I have really beheld. If my darling

trees, they laid Lady Charlewood to rest. For long years afterward the young husband was to carry with him

ing Me

NE CHA

in her

HER SORROWI

ument she deserves," he

so suddenly and so terribly bereft, walked first, the chief mourner in the sad procession; they tell how white his face was, and how at each toll of the solemn bell he winced as though some one had struck him a terrible blow--how he tried hard to control himself, but how at the grave, when she was hidden forever from his sight, he stretched out

ed for his presence. He could do no more for Madaline; all his grief, his tears, his bitter sorrow, were useless; he could not bring her back; he was powerless where she was concerne

e eyes and golden hair? Again Lord Charlewood and the doctor sat in so

ned it then. But she was dead. The child was so young and so feeble, it seemed doubtful whether it would live. What need then to grieve the old earl by the story of his folly and his disobedience? Let

grateful to you. I am going now to Italy, and most probably shall remain there until the earl, my father, grows better, or the end comes. Whe

ked up, with somet

rough nurse,

ne. It would be absurd for me to take her to Italy; and as, for my father's sake, I intend to keep my marriage a secret for some time longer, I cannot send her

e managed," remark

fit. I have thought of offering to send you five hundred per annum, from which you can pay what you think proper for the child. You can purch

ook around for some one who would be a fitting person to take care of little Madaline

whom she would have made a most suitable wife; but she had given her love to a handsome ne'er do well, with whom she had never had one moment of peace or happiness. Henry Dornham had never borne a good character; he had a dark, handsome face--a certain kind of rich, gypsy-like beauty-

ough the greatest joy and greatest sorrow of her life. Her little child, the one gleam of sunshi

iring care over the fragile life of that little child. He had exerted his utmost skill in order to save

Dornham. He felt that all difficulty was at an end. He sent for her. Even Lord Charlewood looked with

he doctor's question. "Indeed I will, and thank Heaven f

r own little one very kee

he heart I have lies

flu bribe you with money--money does not buy the love and care of good women like you--but I ask you, for the love yo

romised, and sh

ecompensed. If all goes well, and the little one prospers with you, I shall leave her with you for two or

ir," she replied. "I left because Miss L'Estrange was

w strange it was that he sho

rally paid as not to need work of any other kind. I am going abroad, but I leave Dr. Letsom as the guar

aw the light that came into her face: he knew that little Madaline would be

eedful for the lit

r kindly, womanly heart, the fact that she once more held a little child in her arms was a source of the purest

ie," he said; "now I shall expect you

m that day made no furthe

," he said--"for both of th

Letsom knew how the suffering of her daily life had increased