The hand was weak; but even in that
momentary action of it, there was no mistaking
the gesture of command.

Sarah bolted the door, returned
irresolutely to the bedside, fixed her large, eager,
startled eyes enquiringly on her mistress's
face, and, suddenly bending over her, said in
a whisper:

"Have you told my master?"

"No," was the answer. "I sent for him,
to tell him—I tried hard to speak the words
—it shook me to my very soul, Sarah, only
to think how I should best break it to him—
I am so fond of him! I love him so dearly!
But I should have spoken in spite of that, if
he had not talked of the child. Sarah! he
did nothing but talk of the child—and that
silenced me."

Sarah, with a forgetfulness of her station
which might have appeared extraordinary
even in the eyes of the most lenient of
mistresses, flung herself back in a chair when
the first word of Mrs. Treverton's reply
was uttered, clasped her trembling hands
over her face, and groaned to herself. "O,
what will happen! what will happen
now!"

Mrs. Treverton's eyes had softened and
moistened when she spoke of her love for
her husband. She lay silent for a few
minutes; the working of some strong emotion
in her, being expressed by her quick, hard,
laboured breathing, and by the painful
contraction of her eyebrows. Ere long, she turned
her head uneasily towards the chair in which
her attendant was sitting, and spoke again—
this time, in a voice which had sunk to a
whisper.

"Look for my medicine," said she. "I want
it."

Sarah started up, and with the quick
instinct of obedience brushed away the tears
that were rolling fast over her cheeks.

"The doctor," she said. "Let me call the
doctor."

"No! The medicine—look for the
medicine."

"Which bottle? The opiate, or—"

"No. Not the opiate. The other."

Sarah took a bottle from the table, and
looking attentively at the written direction
on the label, said that it was not yet time to
take that medicine again.

"Give me the bottle."

"O, pray don't ask me. Pray wait. The
doctor said it was as bad as dram-drinking,
if you took too much."

Mrs. Treverton's clear, deep grey eyes
began to flash; the rosy flush deepened on
her cheeks; the commanding hand was
raised again, by an effort, from the counterpane
on which it lay.

"Take the cork out of the bottle," she
said, "and give it to me. I want strength.
No matter whether I die in an hour's time,
or a week's. Give me the bottle."

"Not the bottle," said Sarah, giving it up,
nevertheless, under the influence of her
mistress's look. "There are two doses left. Wait,
pray wait till I get a glass."

She turned again towards the table. At
the same instant Mrs. Treverton raised the
bottle to her lips, drained it of its contents,
and flung it from her on the bed.

"She has killed herself!" cried Sarah,
running in terror to the door.

"Stop!" said the voice from the bed, more
resolute than ever, already. "Stop! Come
back, and prop me up higher on the pillows."
Sarah put her hand on the bolt. "Come
back," reiterated Mrs. Treverton. "While
there is life in me, I will be obeyed. Come
back." The colour began to deepen perceptibly
all over her face, and the light to grow
brighter in her widely-opened eyes.

Sarah came back; and, with shaking
hands, added one more to the many pillows
which supported the dying woman's head
and shoulders. While this was being done,
the bedclothes became a little discomposed.
Mrs. Treverton shudderingly drew them up
to their former position, close round her
neck.

"Did you unbolt the door?" she asked.

"No."

"I forbid you to go near it again. Get my
writing-case, and the pen and ink, from the
cabinet near the window."

Sarah went to the cabinet and opened it;
then stopped, as if some sudden suspicion
had crossed her mind, and asked what the
writing materials were wanted for.

"Bring them, and you will see."

The writing-case, with a sheet of note-
paper on it, was placed upon Mrs. Treverton's
knees; the pen was dipped into the ink, and
given to her; she paused, closed her eyes for
a minute, and sighed heavily; then began to
write, saying to her waiting-maid, as the
pen touched the paper: "Look."

Sarah peered anxiously over her shoulder,
and saw the pen slowly and feebly form
these three words:—To my Husband.

"O, no! no! For God's sake, don't write
it!" she cried, catching at her mistress's
hand—but suddenly letting it go again the
moment Mrs. Treverton looked at her.

The pen went on; and more slowly, more
feebly, formed words enough to till a line—
then stopped. The letters of the last syllable
were all blotted together.

"Don't!" reiterated Sarah, dropping on
her knees at the bedside.  "Don't write it
to him if you can't tell it to him. Let me
go on bearing what I have borne so long
already. Let the secret die with you and
die with me, and be never known in this
world—never, never, never!"

"The secret must be told," answered Mrs.
Treverton. "My husband ought to know it,
and must know it. I tried to tell him, and
my courage failed me. I cannot trust you to
tell him, after I am gone. It must be written.
Take you the pen; my sight is failing, my