Then the husband and wife went up stairs again. Elizabeth turned from Elsie's door and went into her own dressing-room. With all her magnanimity she could not give her husband up to his sister during the last moments of his stay. He followed her into the room, but directly lifted the curtain and went into Elsie's boudoir, where the young girl lay profoundly sleeping. Elizabeth would not follow. Her heart was swelling too painfully. She sat down, clasped both hands in her lap, and waited like a statue. He had only crossed the boudoir, bent over Elsie, and pressed a cautious but most loving kiss on her forehead. She did not move, but smiled softly in her sleep, and he stole away, blessing her. Elizabeth's heart gave a sudden leap when he came into her room again and sat down by her side. He felt how cold her hand was, and kissed it. "Elizabeth!" She turned, frightened by the tone of his voice. It was hoarse with emotion. "Elizabeth, I have one charge to give before we part." She bent her head in sorrowful submission. "Elsie, my sister!" He did not notice the red flame that shot up to her cheek, or the shrinking of her whole frame, but went on. "The child is so precious to me. The dearest human being I have on earth--" He hesitated a moment, and added, "Except--except you, my wife." She was grateful even for this. Was it that she was conscious of deserving nothing more, or did the hungry yearning of her heart seize on this sweet aliment with thankfulness after the famine of her recent life? He saw the tears spring into her eyes, and drew her closer to his side. "Be careful of her for my sake, Elizabeth. She was given me in solemn charge at my mother's death-bed. She has been the sweetest solace of my barren life. Let no harm come near her--no evil thing taint the mind which I leave in your hands pure as snow. Guard her, love her, and give her back to me, gentle, guileless, and good, as she lies now, in the sweetest and most innocent sleep I ever witnessed." "I will! I will!" answered Elizabeth, conquering a sharp spasm of pain with the spirit of a martyr. "If human care, or human sacrifice can insure her welfare, I will not be found wanting." Grantley bent down and kissed his wife gratefully. "Remember, Elizabeth, my happiness and honor are left in your keeping." Did he mean that honor and happiness both were bound up in Elsie, or had he really thought of her rightful share in his life? This question flashed through the young wife's mind, but she would not accept it in a bitter sense then. The parting hour was close at hand. She trembled as each moment left them. "I will be kind to Elsie as you can desire; indeed I will," she said. "You can trust me." "If I doubted that, harassing as the voyage is, I would take her with me." "Oh, if you only could take us both! It terrifies me to be left alone, surrounded with--"