young woman, of not more than two or three-and-twenty, was,
they told me, the daughter of a schoolmaster, and certainly had been
gently and carefully nurtured. They had one child, a sprightly,
curly-haired, bright-eyed boy, nearly four years old. The wife, Ellen
Irwin, was reputed to be a first-rate hand at some of the lighter
parts of her husband's business; and her efforts to lighten his toil,
and compensate by increased exertion for his daily diminishing
capacity for labour, were unwearying and incessant. Never have I seen
a more gentle, thoughtful tenderness, than was displayed by that young
wife towards her suffering, and sometimes not quite evenly-tempered
partner, who, however, let me add, appeared to reciprocate truthfully
her affection; all the more so, perhaps, that he knew their time
together upon earth was already shrunk to a brief span. In my opinion,
Ellen Irwin was a handsome, even an elegant young person: this,
however, is in some degree a matter of taste. But no one could deny
that the gentle kindness, the beaming compassion, that irradiated her
features as she tended the fast-sinking invalid, rendered her at such
times absolutely beautiful--_angelised_ her, to use an expression of
my wife's, with whom she was a prime favourite. I was self-debating
for about the twentieth time one evening, where it was I had formerly
seen her, with that sad, mournful look of hers; for seen her I was
sure I had, and not long since either. It was late; I had just
returned home; my wife was in the sick-room, and I had entered it with
two or three oranges:--'Oh, now I remember,' I suddenly exclaimed,
just above my breath; 'the picture in Mr Renshawe's room! What a
remarkable coincidence!'

A low, chuckling laugh, close at my elbow, caused me to turn quickly
towards the door. Just within the threshold stood Mr Renshawe, looking
like a white stone-image rather than a living man, but for the fierce
sparkling of his strangely gleaming eyes, and the mocking, triumphant
curl of his lips. 'You, too, have at last observed it, then?' he
muttered, faintly echoing the under-tone in which I spoke: 'I have
known the truth for many weeks.' The manner, the expression, not the
words, quite startled me. At the same moment, a cry of women rang
through the room, and I immediately seized Mr Renshawe by the arm, and
drew him forcibly away, for there was that in his countenance which
should not meet the eyes of a dying man.

'What were you sa