emed too much for her. Then, still more
slowly, the exquisite bloom faded from the lovely face, a weary languor
shone in the dark-blue eyes, the crimson lips lost their color. Yet Lady
Arleigh grew more beautiful as she grew more fragile. Then all appetite
failed her. Mrs. Burton declared that she ate nothing.

She might have led a different life--she might have gone out into
society--she might have visited and entertained guests. People knew that
Lady Arleigh was separated from her husband; they knew also that,
whatever might have been the cause of separation, it had arisen from no
fault of hers. She would, in spite of her strange position, have been
welcomed with open arms by the whole neighborhood, but she was sick with
mortal sorrow--life had not a charm for her.

She had no words for visitors--she had no wish left for enjoyment. Just
to dream her life away was all she cared for. The disappointment was so
keen, so bitter, she could not overcome it. Death would free Norman from
all burden--would free him from this tie that must be hateful to him.
Death was no foe to be met and fought with inch by inch; he was rather a
friend who was to save her from the embarrassment of living on--a friend
who would free her husband from the effects of his terrible mistake.

Madaline had never sent for her mother, not knowing whether Lord
Arleigh would like it; but she had constantly written to her, and had
forwarded money to her. She had sent her more than Margaret Dornham was
willing to accept. Another thing she had done--she had most carefully
refrained from saying one word to her mother as to the cause of her
separation from her husband. Indeed, Margaret Dornham had no notion of
the life that her well-beloved Madaline was leading.

It had been a terrible struggle for Margaret to give her up.

"I might as well have let her go back years ago to those to whom she
belonged," she said to herself, "as to let her go now."

Still, she stood in great awe of the Duchess of Hazlewood, who seemed to
her one of the grandest ladies in all England; and, when the duchess
told her it was selfish of her to stand in her daughter's light,
Margaret gave way and let her go. Many times, after she had parted with
her, she felt inclined to open the oaken box with brass clasps, and see
what the papers in it contained, but a nameless fear came over her. She
did not dare to do what she had not done earlier.

Madaline had constantly written to her, had