was deadly
pale; and she conversed with a restraint and difficulty which showed what
exertion it was for her to keep up at all. I left as soon as possible,
with an appointment for another interview. That interview was my last on
earth with her, and is still beautiful in memory. It was a long, still
summer afternoon, spent alone with her in a garden, where we walked
together. She was enjoying one of those bright intervals of freedom from
pain and languor, in which her spirits always rose so buoyant and
youthful; and her eye brightened, and her step became elastic.

One last little incident is cherished as most expressive of her. When it
became time for me to leave, she took me in her carriage to the station.
As we were almost there, I missed my gloves, and said, 'I must have left
them; but there is not time to go back.'

With one of those quick, impulsive motions which were so natural to her
in doing a kindness, she drew off her own and said, 'Take mine if they
will serve you.'

I hesitated a moment; and then the thought, that I might never see her
again, came over me, and I said, 'Oh, yes! thanks.' That was the last
earthly word of love between us. But, thank God, those who love worthily
never meet for the last time: there is always a future.

CHAPTER II. LADY BYRON'S STORY AS TOLD ME.

I now come to the particulars of that most painful interview which has
been the cause of all this controversy. My sister and myself were going
from London to Eversley to visit the Rev. C. Kingsley. On our way, we
stopped, by Lady Byron's invitation, to lunch with her at her summer
residence on Ham Common, near Richmond; and it was then arranged, that on
our return, we should make her a short visit, as she said she had a
subject of importance on which she wished to converse with me alone.

On our return from Eversley, we arrived at her house in the morning.

It appeared to be one of Lady Byron's well days. She was up and dressed,
and moved about her house with her usual air of quiet simplicity; as full
of little acts of consideration for all about her as if they were the
habitual invalids, and she the well person.

There were with her two ladies of her most intimate friends, by whom she
seemed to be regarded with a sort of worship. When she left the room for
a moment, they looked after her with a singular expression of respect and
affection, and expressed freely their admiration of her character, and
their fears