“Nothing in heaven above or hell beneath can change my unalterable love,” she repeated. “Fold my hands, Nance—together—so. Father in Heaven—if a weak woman can be so forgiving, wilt not Thou—even Thou—have mercy?” The last words were scarcely distinguishable. Nance kept the folded hands together. A smile came suddenly on the white lips, a longer and slower breath than any of the others, then stillness. Half an hour afterwards Simpkins softly opened the door of the room and came on tiptoe to Nancy’s side. He saw at a glance that the chief was dead. Nance was kneeling by him, her face hidden against his breast. “Come, madam; I am dreadfully sorry, but you dare not stay here another moment,” said the man in a tone of great pity and sympathy. At the words she raised her head and gave him a bewildered glance. She rose to her feet, staggering slightly. “I do not wish to leave here,” she said. “I want to remain by my husband’s body.” “Hurry, Simpkins, hurry!” said Scrivener’s voice at that moment in the doorway. “You must not stay, madam. It is as much as our lives are worth. I must tell you something.” “Nothing against the dead,” said Nancy, speaking in a strong full tone; “I forbid you.” “No, we won’t mention his name,” said Simpkins. “I honour you, madam, for your loyalty. But as matters have turned out, he might, poor fellow, have met a worse fate. I won’t say any more. Whatever his faults he died true to us. Mrs. Rowton, it has been our misfortune to get into the black books of the law, and even at this moment the house is surrounded by police.” “What do you mean?” “What I say. The police have got wind of our whereabouts. They will burst into this room in a moment or two. No they cannot touch the dead, but you must leave us, madam.” “Is your name Simpkins?” inquired Nance suddenly. “Yes, madam.” “Then I have a message for you from my husband. He said that you knew of the whereabouts of his nephew, Murray Cameron. His last injunction to me was to find the boy. I must find him. Will you help me?” “Yes,” said Scrivener, who came forward at that moment. “We’ll both help you, lady. We do not want the boy any more. Our School is broken up after to-night. Go at once, Mrs. Rowton. I know your hotel. Your husband’s nephew will join you there before the morning. Go now.” A sudden noise was heard downstairs—the trampling of feet. “Heavens! we are lost,” cried Scrivener. “Go, madam; they cannot touch your dead; but if you do as he wishes, you will leave us now.” “Yes, I will go,” said Nance. “But one moment first.” She fell on her knees by the body of her husband, and bending down printed a long kiss on the cold lips. In doing so she noticed that the lips themselves were smooth and undisfigured. There was no mark. * * * * *