She lay back on her pillows, spent and exhausted, the feeble breath ever growing more laboured; then gently drew her daughter's golden head upon her breast, and murmured, "Let your father ever be your first care, sweet one! I leave him to you--a sacred charge; and you--oh, Morveth, you will strive for my sake not to crush this our tender blossom by yielding to your weakness? My heart fails me at leaving her thus to bear alone in her youth and beauty the burden of her doomed race!" "Not alone," said Percival Vere, gently taking her wasted fingers in his own. "While I live, though she may never be my wife, she will ever be my most sacred charge. She is dearer to me than life, and I will teach her to look to me for protection from every ill. And our faithful Rhiwallon and your own beloved father will ever be at our side, with their brave counsels, pillars of strength in the wisdom of their riper years." The troubled look passed from Lady Bryn Afon's eyes, and they rested with the confidence of deep affection upon the pure, earnest face of the young chaplain, then turned with loving gaze upon the aged weather-beaten countenance of the boatman, and the deeply-lined features of the prematurely-aged physician. Then she said gently: "I would be alone awhile with my husband. Father, go with our children and pray for me awhile, ere you shall partake with me anon of the most Holy Sacrament, which I would fain receive at the hands of my faithful friend Master Rhys, an he will so favour me with his ministrations. Seek him, prithee, good Rhiwallon, and bid him not tarry, for the lights of earth grow dim, and I must soon be gone. Percival, take our Shanno, and dry her tears, but stay not long from my side, for the end cometh speedily." Two hours later the solemn service was over, the last farewells had been said, and Lady Bryn Afon's spirit had passed from a world which to her had been verily a "vale of tears,"--and for her the curse was for ever at an end. * * * * * * *