the intervals of pain, and paying the debts of
a reverend brother who succeeded in the pulpit, and prospered nowhere
else.

In the later days of its life, the tower had been greatly improved as a
place of residence. The contrast was remarkable between the dreary gray
outer walls, and the luxuriously furnished rooms inside, rising by two
at a time to the lofty eighth story of the building. Among the scattered
populace of the country round, the tower was still known by the odd name
given to it in the bygone time--"The Clink." It had been so called (as
was supposed) in allusion to the noise made by loose stones, washed
backward and forward at certain times of the tide, in hollows of the
rock on which the building stood.

On the evening of her arrival at Mrs. Delvin's retreat, Emily retired at
an early hour, fatigued by her long journey. Mirabel had an opportunity
of speaking with his sister privately in her own room.

"Send me away, Agatha, if I disturb you," he said, "and let me know when
I can see you in the morning."

"My dear Miles, have you forgotten that I am never able to sleep in calm
weather? My lullaby, for years past, has been the moaning of the great
North Sea, under my window. Listen! There is not a sound outside on this
peaceful night. It is the right time of the tide, just now--and yet,
'the clink' is not to be heard. Is the moon up?"

Mirabel opened the curtains. "The whole sky is one great abyss of
black," he answered. "If I was superstitious, I should think that horrid
darkness a bad omen for the future. Are you suffering, Agatha?"

"Not just now. I suppose I look sadly changed for the worse since you
saw me last?"

But for the feverish brightness of her eyes, she would have looked like
a corpse. Her wrinkled forehead, her hollow cheeks, her white lips told
their terrible tale of the suffering of years. The ghastly appearance
of her face was heightened by the furnishing of the room. This doomed
woman, dying slowly day by day, delighted in bright colors and sumptuous
materials. The paper on the walls, the curtains, the carpet presented
the hues of the rainbow. She lay on a couch covered with purple silk,
under draperies of green velvet to keep her warm. Rich lace hid h er
scanty hair, turning prematurely gray; brilliant rings glittered on her
bony fingers. The room was in a blaze of light from lamps and candles.
Even the wine at her side that kept her alive had been decanted into a
bottle of lustro