gh no tears had
moistened them, that Guy could hardly answer her.

"I did not mean to refuse you, dear," he said, at last. "I won't even
ask you to wait. If you are not strong enough to walk, I will carry
you."

She rose slowly and painfully, as if her limbs were stiff with cold; but
she could stand, and walk with his arm round her; and so these two moved
slowly along the deserted passages toward the room where the corpse lay.

There was nothing shocking in its appearance now. All the traces of
murder had been washed away, and they had arranged the silky chestnut
hair till it concealed the wound, and fell in smooth waves over the
white forehead. That sweet calm which will sometimes descend on the face
of the dead, even when their end has been violent--the sad _Alpen-gluth_
that comes only when the sun has set--was there in all its beauty. Save
that the features were somewhat sharper than in life, there was nothing
to mar their pure classical outline. It was well, indeed, that Guy held
her back two hours ago. If Isabel had looked on them then, I believe she
would have gone mad with terror, if not with sorrow. It matters much,
the expression of a face, when it is sure to mingle in our dreams for
many after years.

Guy led her up to the bedside, and left the room as she sank down on her
knees. He remained outside the closed door, for he thought she might
need help if her strength failed suddenly; and I joined him there.

For some time we heard only the quick, stormy sobs, and the kisses
showering down; then came the piteous, heart-broken wail that called
upon her husband's name; and then the great gush of tears that saved
her. After that there was a murmur, often broken off but always
renewed: we both bowed our heads reverently, for we knew the widow was
praying.

She came forth at length, her head buried in her hands; but she could
walk to her room unassisted, and allowed them to undress her there,
without a word but thanks. Before long nature would have her way, and
she was sleeping quietly.

While we were waiting the return of the men who had gone out in pursuit,
Livingstone went alone into the death-chamber. He staid there some
minutes. When he came out his face was paler than ever, and there was a
sort of horror in his eyes.

He took my arm and led me into the room without speaking. "Do you see
that?" he asked, lifting the hair gently that fell over the left check
of the corpse.

Distinctly and lividly mar