as from the convincing proofs
offered by Lord Mount Severn. Not but what Miss Carlyle had borne in
mind the suspicion, and had been fond of tracing the likeness in Madame
Vine's face.

"How could you dare come back here!" she abruptly asked, her tone of
sad, soft wailing, not one of reproach.

Lady Isabel humbly crossed her attenuated hands upon her chest. "My
children," she whispered. "How could I stay away from them? Have pity,
Miss Carlyle! Don't reproach me. I am on my way to God, to answer for
all my sins and sorrows."

"I do not reproach you," said Miss Carlyle.

"I am so glad to go," she continued to murmur, her eyes full of tears.
"Jesus did not come, you know, to save the good like you; He came for
the sake of us poor sinners. I tried to take up my cross, as He bade us,
and bear it bravely for His sake; but its weight has killed me."

The good like you! Humbly, meekly, deferentially was it expressed,
in all good faith and trust, as though Miss Corny was a sort of upper
angel. Somehow the words grated on Miss Corny's ear: grated fiercely on
her conscience. It came into her mind, then, as she stood there, that
the harsh religion that she had through life professed, was not the
religion that would best bring peace to her dying bed.

"Child," said she, drawing near to and leaning over Lady Isabel, "had I
anything to do with sending you from East Lynne?"

Lady Isabel shook her head and cast down her gaze, as she whispered:
"You did not send me; you did not help to send me. I was not very happy
with you, but that was not the cause--of my going away. Forgive me, Miss
Carlyle, forgive me!"

"Thank God!" inwardly breathed Miss Carlyle. "Forgive me," she said,
aloud and in agitation, touching her hand. "I could have made your home
happier, and I wish I had done it. I have wished it ever since you left
it."

Lady Isabel drew the hand in hers. "I want to see Archibald," she
whispered, going back, in thought, to the old time and the old name.
"I have prayed Joyce to bring him to me, and she will not. Only for a
minute! Just to hear him say that he forgives me! What can it matter,
now that I am as one lost to the world? I should die easier."

Upon what impulse or grounds Miss Carlyle saw fit to accede to the
request, cannot be told. Probably she did not choose to refuse a
death-bed prayer; possibly she reasoned, as did Lady Isabel--what could
it matter? She went to the door. Joyce was in the corridor, leaning
a