CHAPTER XIX.

Three months have passed by and we are all at Cromer. All the necessary enquiries had been gone through and a "post mortem" had been held upon the two skeletons, but the clothes, rings, watches, pocket books, etc., which had been carefully kept by Jack Morris, were ample proofs that the two bodies were those of Richard and Gladys. They were interred in the church yard, as they had died together, so they were buried. The village had again something to talk about. So we left the Castle for an indefinite time, and took this house in Cromer.

In the pocket book, found upon Richard, was his will, made the very night of his return home, and witnessed by two of the servants. He left me enough money to keep me upon very comfortably-£200 a year if I married again. The castle and the rest of his income went to my little Lowis, there being no inheriting male.

L

My Lowis is not looking so well as I could wish; and the little legs are not so active and the baby tongue seems too weary to keep up its incessant chatter. The little domineering spirit seems also to have disappeared, and as nurse says "She is too good" and a spasm of fear makes me tremble as I think perhaps God is going to take my treasure to himself, surely He will leave my one comfort. At any rate I will send for dear old Dr. Bradley; the Doctor here says it is only the excessive heat, and that as the cooler weather comes baby will be better.

"Mumsie, Mumsie, I t'ant pay any more, I'se so velly tired. Will 'ou sing to 'our bid dolly and hush her to sleep?" "Come, my pet, I will sing." So an hour passes by, and still the little one refuses to be moved, and the heavy lids cover the blue eyes that are so often shut now, and the little hands and feet burn like living coals. I can bear it no longer, and ring for nurse.

gasp,

"send

I

"Oh! Nurse, baby is worse, I a telegram home for Dr. Bradley, at once. shall not rest until he comes."

We have to wait patiently, but early the next morning the good old Doctor arrives, but my Lowis is worse. All through the long night she has been chattering in her delirium. One moment she has been trying to outwit nurse and get something she has set her heart on, the next minute she is running races with Geoff., or scolding one of her numerous dollies. Again, she is fighting with some sea urchin for a more than usually pretty shell, which most undisputably belongs to him, but which she intends to have by fair means or foul.

The old Doctor shakes his head as he bends over the little crib. "Have you any idea Lady Elston, if she can have eaten any poisonous thing?" "None whatever," I reply, for I feel sure she has not.

"I shall telegraph for another opinion, for then I shall feel more satisfied."

So in course of time the London doctor arrives to help to save my darling.

But he, too is baffled, as well as Dr. Bradley; both think she must have eaten some poisonous berry without our knowledge... Thus

five long weeks pass by; my little girl is worn to a skeleton, and yet neither of the doctors knows exactly what ails her. "Do you not think her a little better to-day, Dr. Bradley?" I ask eagerly.

Truthfully he answers, "None, my lady.”

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But you can make her better if we only wait and nurse her well, for you are so clever. I hardly know what I am asking, but yet never for one moment will I let myself think that Lowis may die."

"I will do my best for your little child, my dear, but we must leave the rest to some one who can always heal where he thinks best. I will stay with her to-night and carefully watch her, and then I will tell you the truth in the morning. If we could only get her to sleep I should feel happier."

For the last three days what the doctors most dreaded has come to pass. Sleep has refused to come to our little sufferer. We have wrapped her in blankets soaked in laudanum, and laid the weary little head on

hop pillows, but all to no purpose. For hours I have knelt by her little crib, croaning the tales she loved dearest into the little ear, but still the eyelids would not close for once. The heavenly healer refused to send his beloved sleep.

I stand for a minute before leaving her to the doctor's care, and look at the worn little face and close-cropped head, then the tiny hands try to clasp together and the baby lips murmur softly,

"'Entle 'esus meet and mild

Oot upon a 'ittle child."

The old man at once kneels down by the bedside, his face hidden in his hands. The room is strangely quiet, it is as though some baby angel were speaking; the little voice ceases and all is still.

"That was indeed a glimpse of heaven, lady Elston," whispers Dr. Bradley, "we must leave her to the children's Saviour."

Next morning the doctor leads me into the little drawing-room and places me on a chair, for I am too feeble to stand.