one. Softly she glides to where he sits, and laying her
trembling hand upon his arm, says in a husky voice "Louis come now, do
not wait a moment longer--baby has the croup" in an instant he was at
baby's side.

Natalie's ashy face and the word croup, acted like a talisman.

It was croup, and a very bad attack too, he speedily did what was
needful, but not without almost breaking his poor little wife's heart,
by his cruel remarks, "you should be more careful of her," he said
angrily "ten minutes more, and I could have done nothing for her."

"Oh Louis," (he had been home now nearly a quarter of an hour.)

"There must have been some gross mismanagement and fearful neglect, to
bring on such an attack as this, to a child that has never been subject
to croup, how she ever got into this state passes my understanding, you
have been trying some of you foolish schemes I suppose."

"Oh Louis, you know she was out in all that rain to-day" interposed
Natalie meekly.

"What was that for, I should like to know," he asked indignantly "are
you tired of her already that you don't take better care of her than
that?--Oh Natalie!" Natalie's pale cheek flushed at his injustice, but
she made no answer, she only watched little Izzie in fear and trembling,
and oh how glad and thankful she was when baby presently was sleeping
quietly. But how often afterwards did she dwell upon these cruel words,
and shed many bitter tears beside her sleeping darling's cot, oh baby,
she would murmur, what more care could I take of you than I always do.

CHAPTER XX.

In his superbly furnished library sat Lord Barrington. He had just
finished reading a letter that he had taken from his desk. "Strange," he
murmured, "very strange, that Arthur has not come yet, nor any letter
from him; I can't understand it," and he replaced the letter with a
heavy sigh. He then turned to the letters on the table, which he had
before cast aside, finding the wished-for one was not among them. "Ha,
one from George; perhaps he may have seen him." He reads for a while,
then starting from his seat exclaimed "Good Heavens! what is this?" Then
reads again:

Judge my amazement when I came across a rude apology for a
tombstone, in a little out-of-the-way grave yard: "To the memory
of Arthur, only son of Lord Barrington of Barrington, who died
August 8th, 1864." As I had not the remotest idea that he was
dead, but was almost daily expecting to find him.