THE MOONSTONE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," &c. &c.

SECOND PERIOD. THE DISCOVERY OF THE
TRUTH. (1848—1849.)

CHAPTER III.

CONSIDERATION for poor Lady Verinder
forbade me even to hint that I had guessed the
melancholy truth, before she opened her lips.
I waited her pleasure in silence; and, having
privately arranged to say a few sustaining
words at the first convenient opportunity, felt
prepared for any duty that could claim me, no
matter how painful it might be.

"I have been seriously ill, Drusilla, for some
time past," my aunt began. " And, strange to
say, without knowing it myself."

I thought of the thousands on thousands of
perishing human creatures who were all at that
moment spiritually ill, without knowing it
themselves. And I greatly feared that my
poor aunt might be one of the number. " Yes,
dear," I said, sadly. " Yes."

"I brought Rachel to London, as you know,
for medical advice," she went on. " I thought
it right to consult two doctors."

Two doctors! And, oh me (in Rachel's
state), not one clergyman! "Yes, dear?" I
said once more. "Yes?"

"One of the two medical men," proceeded
my aunt, " was a stranger to me. The other
had been an old friend of my husband's, and
had always felt a sincere interest in me for my
husband's sake. After prescribing for Rachel,
he said he wished to speak to me privately in
another room. I expected, of course, to
receive some special directions for the management
of my daughter's health. To my surprise,
he took me gravely by the hand, and said, ' I
have been looking at you, Lady Verinder, with
a professional as well as a personal interest.
You are, I am afraid, far more urgently in need
of medical advice than your daughter.' He put
some questions to me, which I was at first
inclined to treat lightly enough, until I
observed that my answers distressed him. It
ended in his making an appointment to come
and see me, accompanied by a medical friend,
on the next day, at an hour when Rachel
would not be at home. The result of that
visit—most kindly and gently conveyed to
me—satisfied both the physicians that there
had been precious time lost, which could never
be regained, and that my case had now passed
beyond the reach of their art. For more
than two years, I have been suffering under
an insidious form of heart disease, which,
without any symptoms to alarm me, has, by
little and little, fatally broken me down. I
may live for some months, or I may die before
another day has passed over my head—the
doctors cannot, and dare not, speak more
positively than this. It would be vain to say, my
dear, that I have not had some miserable
moments since my real situation has been made
known to me. But I am more resigned than I
was, and I am doing my best to set my worldly
affairs in order. My one great anxiety is
that Rachel should be kept in ignorance of
the truth. If she knew it, she would at once
attribute my broken health to anxiety about
the Diamond, and would reproach herself
bitterly, poor child, for what is in no sense her
fault. Both the doctors agree that the
mischief began two, if not three, years since. I
am sure you will keep my secret, Drusilla—for
I am sure I see sincere sorrow and sympathy
for me in your face."

Sorrow and sympathy! Oh, what Pagan
emotions to expect from a Christian Englishwoman
anchored firmly on her faith!

Little did my poor aunt imagine what a
gush of devout thankfulness thrilled through
me as she approached the close of her melancholy
story. Here was a career of usefulness
opened before me! Here was a beloved relative
and perishing fellow-creature, on the eve
of the great change, utterly unprepared; and
led, providentially led, to reveal her situation
to Me! How can I describe the joy with which
I now remembered that the precious clerical
friends on whom I could rely, were to be
counted, not by ones or twos, but by tens and
twenties! I took my aunt in my arms—my
overflowing tenderness was not to be satisfied,
now, with anything less than an embrace.
"Oh!" I said to her, fervently, "the
indescribable interest with which you inspire
me! Oh! the good I mean to do you, dear,
before we part!" After another word or two
of earnest prefatory warning, I gave her her
choice of three precious friends, all plying the
work of mercy from morning to night in her
own neighbourhood; all equally inexhaustible