son, reduced by sorrow and
illness to a state of infantile feebleness of mind and body; Lady
Belgrade, nearly worn out with long watching, fatigue, and anxiety; and
the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom we must henceforth designate as the
Duke of Hereward, and whom even the stately dowager, who was "of the most
straitest sect, a Pharisee" of conventional etiquette, nevertheless
implored to remain a guest at the castle until after the recovery of the
heiress, and the reading of the father's will.

The young duke who wished nothing more than to be near his bride, readily
consented to stay.

But Salome's recovery was so slow, and her frame so feeble, that she
seemed to have re-entered life through a new infancy of body and mind.

Strangely, however, through all her illness she seemed not to have lost
the memory of its cause--her father's shocking death. Thus she had no new
grief or horror to experience.

No one spoke to her of the terrible tragedy. She herself was the first to
allude to it.

The occasion was this:

On the first day on which she was permitted to leave her bedchamber and
sit for awhile in an easy resting chair, beside the open window of her
boudoir, to enjoy the fresh air from the mountain and the lake, she sent
for the young duke to come to her.

He eagerly obeyed the summons, and hastened to her side.

He had not been permitted to see her since her illness, and now he was
almost overwhelmed with sorrow to see into what a mere shadow of her
former self she had faded.

As she reclined there in her soft white robes, with her long, dark hair
flowing over her shoulders, so fair, so wan, so spiritual she looked,
that it seemed as if the very breeze from the lake might have wafted her
away.

He dropped on one knee beside her, and embraced and kissed her hands, and
then sat down next her.

After the first gentle greetings were over, she amazed him by turning and
asking:

"Has the murderer been discovered yet?"

"No, my beloved, but the detectives have a clue, that they feel sure will
lead to the discovery and conviction of the wretch," answered the young
duke, in a low voice.

"Where have they laid the body of my dear father?" she next inquired in
a low hushed tone.

"In the family vault beside those of my own parents," gravely replied the
young man.

"Your own--_parents_, my lord? I knew that your dear mother had gone
before, but--your father--"

"My father has passed to his eternal home. I