Late in the afternoon May awoke from her placid sleep. She had been dreaming, poor child, but not of the dark tragedy that had been enacted in Henley Wood. Yet she awoke with a start and sat up, and then distinctly heard loud, piercing screams of grief ringing through the house. She at once hastily rose, and was approaching the door of her bedroom when it opened, and Miss Webster's gentle face appeared. "Oh, Miss Webster, someone is crying so dreadfully; what is it?" asked May. "There has been an accident, my dear," faltered Miss Webster, who was very pale. "An accident?" repeated May, alarmed. "What has happened?" "Your husband--Mr. Temple, has been thrown from his horse," answered Miss Webster in an agitated voice. "John! Oh! where is he?" cried May, and her face grew very white. "I will go to him at once," and she grasped Miss Webster's arm. "No, dear, you can not go just now," said Miss Webster, soothingly; "you can not see him just now--you must think of the child, May--" A cry burst from May's pale lips, and she looked eagerly in Miss Webster's face, which was full of pity and distress. "Tell me the worst!" gasped May. "I--I--see--Oh! God! it can not be!" "My dear--" began Miss Webster, and then her kindly lips refused their office. "Tell me--" repeated May, huskily, "is he--is he--" "My dear, he has passed away from all earthly troubles," answered Miss Webster, in broken accents; "he has been thrown from his horse and his head injured--but May, my dear, my dear, you have a duty before you--be brave, and bear this great blow for your child's sake." But with a moan May sank prone upon the floor; and as she did so the frantic cries of Mrs. Temple still sounded in her ears! Miss Webster at once rang the bell violently, and a moment or two later the doctor appeared. It had been known in the household that Miss Webster had gone to break the news to the poor widow, and there were anxious listeners waiting outside. Among these were Mr. Churchill and the doctor, who had been hastily summoned after John Temple's death, and who had accompanied the body to the Hall. He now--assisted by Miss Webster--lifted May on the bed, and he also spoke to May very impressively. "My dear madam, think of your unborn child; you may irreparably injure it unless you control your grief." And May understood. She lay there with her white face and her wide-open eyes trying to keep calm. She had looked forward to her motherhood, thinking it would fill a strange void in her heart, and she struggled now as bravely as she could with her bitter pain. That night her child was born; born amid such anguish that for long hours they scarcely hoped the young mother would survive. But when the pale spring dawn crept through the window-blinds the early beams fell on the small, pinched features of the little heir of Woodlea. They fell too on the pale, handsome face of the dead father; on the face of John Temple lying in his unbroken sleep.