despite, and to die.
And when Grace had closed the eyes of her beloved, she lay down to her
own long rest. Her work was finished in this world; and very welcome
was the summons to her--"Come up higher."

"From her long heart-withering early gone,
She hath lived--she hath loved--her task is done."

Yet how was it possible to wish her back? Back to pain, and sorrow, and
fear, and mournful memory of the far-off husband and the dead child!
Back from the lighted halls of the Father's Home, to the bleak, cold,
weary wilderness of earth! Surely with Christ it was far better.

When Isoult came in comforted after her visit to Grace's grave, Barbara,
her parlour-maid, met her at the door.

"Mistress, a letter came for you in all haste shortly after you went
forth," said she. "I had come unto you withal, had I known whither you
were gone."

Isoult took the letter from Barbara's hand. On the outside was
written--the energetic ancient form of our mild direction "To be
delivered immediately"--a rather startling address to the postman.

"Haste, haste, for thy life, haste!"

With forebodings travelling in more than one direction, Isoult cut the
ribbon which fastened the letter and broke the seal. There were not a
dozen lines written within; but her heart sank like lead ere she had
read half of them.

The letter was from Crowe, and was signed by Mr George Basset, the
eldest surviving son of Lady Lisle. He desired John Avery and his wife
to hasten with all speed to Crowe, for Lady Lisle had been taken ill
suddenly and dangerously, and they feared for her life. There was also
an entreaty to bring Dr Thorpe, if he could possibly come; for at Crowe
there was only an apothecary. Doctors, regularly qualified, were scarce
in those days. All the scattered members of the family within
reasonable distance had been summoned.

In as short a time as it was possible to be ready, John and Isoult set
forth with Dr Thorpe, who said he could accompany them without more than
temporary inconvenience to any of his patients. It was two days'
journey to Crowe; and Isoult's heart sank lower and lower as they
approached the house. But when they reached the end of the long lane
which led to it, they suddenly encountered, at a turn in the road, the
writer of the letter which had summoned them. It was an instant relief
to see Mr George Basset smile and hold out his hand in welcome.

"Better news, thank God!" he said at once. "My moth