il of the Jesuit fathers. He began to repeat softly,
lessons they had taught him--prayers and scraps of hymns, sometimes
Latin, sometimes French. Once, after a pause, he began to recite, quite
clearly, a Latin Psalm--

"O Domine, libera animam meam: misericors Dominus et justus; et Deus
miseretur.... Convertere, anima mea, in requiem tuam, quia Dominus
benefecit tibi"--

Again there was a silence, for he was deaf to all earthly voices, and
the wife and daughter knelt side by side and listened to those strange
broken sentences, which seemed to come from a mind dead to all outward
influences, yet not wholly unconscious of its own state.

Once he said "Mary;" but though she held his hand still clasped in
hers, his wife could not make her voice heard in answer. Then he talked
again murmuringly of old times; and last of all when the low musical
tones had grown very feeble, but were musical still, Mary heard, "Mon
Dieu, j'espere avec une ferme confiance"--There the words seemed to
fail, until they grew audible again for one last moment--"la vie
eternelle."

So he grew silent for ever in this life.

CHAPTER XIX.

The cold grey of the early winter morning was just beginning to be
warmed by the first flash of crimson before sunrise, as Mrs. Bellairs
drove away from the prison gates with the two who had kept so strange a
vigil. Neither of them noticed the sky then, or they might have seen how
after the shadows began to disappear, and the snowy glimmer which had
shone palely all night, was swallowed up in the growing brightness of
morning, everything began to be tinged with rosy splendour, and life
fresh and joyous, sprang up to meet the sun. It was winter still--all
last year's leaves and flowers were dead, and there was the hush of snow
and frost upon everything; but over all, after storm and night came
light and gladness, and the flowers would bloom again in their season.

It was quite early still and few people were stirring. They saw no one
on their arrival except Bella, who was ready to run down and admit them
the moment their sleigh-bells were heard. Mother and daughter went to
their room, where the fire had been burning all night in readiness for
their coming, and where Mrs. Bellairs herself brought them some coffee.
Then Lucia lay down and was soon asleep; and Mrs. Costello seeing that
she was so, followed her example.

There was no vehement grief to keep her waking in these first hours of
her widowhood,