se devouring his
latest thoughts. He could die in the belief of having been ever devoted
to her whom he had promised to love, cherish and protect. Keenly did
Lady Rosamond feel this reflection. Had her husband been less kind,
generous and true, she could have borne the present with a firmness
worthy of her spirit. But the thoughts that now filled her breast were
maddening, merciless and torturing.

"What have I done to suffer so much through life," was the mental
question ever uppermost.

Gerald Bereford had fought the battle of life bravely. He had taken part
in its conflicts and struggles, never flinching from his post when duty
called. Ambition had dazzlingly tempted him on--on--further on. He must
be victorious in gaining the cause for which so many had fought with
firm determination. Could he have lived to see the result of such
political warfare--its blessings and its privileges--its freedom--he
might exclaim with the brave general, "I die happy." But he _did_ die
happy. He _lived_ a happy life--he _died_ a happy death.

Lady Rosamond had many kind friends amidst this sad bereavement. Her
pale face had power to move the most stoical--more powerful than the
loudest outbursts of grief, or the paroxysms of a passionate and
unsubdued sorrow.

What she suffered in those hours of silent anguish Heaven alone can ever
know. Thoughts forced themselves upon her almost too hard to bear. Truly
did she need the strength for which she had prayed on a former occasion.
It seems a sacrilegious intrusion to unveil the heart of this truly
devoted woman, who had sacrificed her entire being to the wishes and
welfare of one whom she had calmly laid to rest. Fain would we stop
here. But the sequel must be told.

Lady Rosamond had married Gerald Bereford with a firm resolve to be a
dutiful and yielding wife, yet her heart had refused to follow. She
never loved the man who lived upon her smiles. Still he knew it not. She
was to him kind, loving, and pure. She was indeed _kind_. In every
action shone kindness in characters of bold relief. Everyone who knew
her found naught but true kindness. _Loving_? Yes, loving; though Gerald
Bereford stirred not the depths of Lady Rosamond's heart, she was
capable of a love as undying as the soul that gave it birth. It was her
life--her being. In pity for her faithful husband she had guarded every
secret passage of the heart which might lead to the betrayal of bitter
and desolate feelings. _Pure_?