During the afternoon, the doctors ordered that Mrs. Sherwin should not be allowed to see her husband or her child again, without their permission. There was little need of taking such a precaution to preserve the tranquillity of her last moments. As the day began to decline, she sank again into insensibility: her life was just not death, and that was all. She lingered on in this quiet way, with her eyes peacefully closed, and her breathing so gentle as to be quite inaudible, until late in the evening. Just as it grew quite dark, and the candle was lit in the sick room, the servant who was helping to watch by her, drew aside the curtain to look at her mistress; and saw that, though her eyes were still closed, she was smiling. The girl turned round, and beckoned to the nurse to come to the bedside. When they lifted the curtains again to look at her, she was dead. * * * * * Let me return to the day of my last visit to North Villa. More remains to be recorded, before my narrative can advance to the morrow. After the door had closed, and I knew that I had looked my last on Mrs. Sherwin in this world, I remained a few minutes alone in the room, until I had steadied my mind sufficiently to go out again into the streets. As I walked down the garden-path to the gate, the servant whom I had seen on my entrance, ran after me, and eagerly entreated that I would wait one moment and speak to her. When I stopped and looked at the girl, she burst into tears. “I’m afraid I’ve been doing wrong, Sir,” she sobbed out, “and at this dreadful time too, when my poor mistress is dying! If you please, Sir, I _must_ tell you about it!” I gave her a little time to compose herself; and then asked what she had to say. “I think you must have seen a man leaving a letter with me, Sir,” she continued, “just when you came up to the door, a little while ago?” “Yes: I saw him.” “It was for Miss Margaret, Sir, that letter; and I was to keep it secret; and--and--it isn’t the first I’ve taken in for her. It’s weeks and weeks ago, Sir, that the same man came with a letter, and gave me money to let nobody see it but Miss Margaret--and that time, Sir, he waited; and she sent me with an answer to give him, in the same secret way. And now, here’s this second letter; I don’t know who it comes from--but I haven’t taken it to her yet; I waited to show it to you, Sir, as you came out, because--” “Why, Susan?--tell me candidly why?” “I hope you won’t take it amiss, Sir, if I say that having lived in the family so long as I have, I can’t help knowing a little about what you and Miss Margaret used to be to each other, and that something’s happened wrong between you lately; and so, Sir, it seems to be very bad and dishonest in me (after first helping you to come together, as I did), to be giving her strange letters, unknown to you. They may be bad letters. I’m sure I wouldn’t wish to say anything disrespectful, or that didn’t become my place; but--”