“Let me just see her, my lady! Oh, for God’s sake let me just go near her! I won’t dare to touch her--I won’t even dare to say _good-bye_!” a voice whispers so hoarsely, so brokenly, that my lady starts and turns round, but does not understand. But Baby has heard, through the faint mists that are rising up around her; the voice of the man who loves her finds an echo in her heart. “_Let_ him come near, governor,” she says slowly, with an effort. “He isn’t a gentleman, but I loved him and asked him to marry me, but he wouldn’t, governor. He said he wouldn’t hurt me by doing it.” “Quite right of him,” Lord Beranger falters through the tears that roll down his cheeks. “Hargreaves, come closer.” He draws closer and kneels down beside the couch, and taking up one long, glittering tress, he puts his quivering lips to it. “You may kiss me, Hargreaves,” Baby murmurs, with a half smile on her pale lips. “There are no _convenances_ where I’m going!” He rises from his knees and, bending over, kisses her for the first and _the very last time_. “Good--bye--all!” she gasps. “I have--had--a--jolly--time--but--I’m--not sorry--to--go! Go--od--bye!” Her eyes close, a grey hue runs round the pretty lips and the shadow of the Angel of Death falls on her little face. Only a few hours more and Baby is gone!--gone with her smiles and her wiles, her coaxing ways and her naughty ways--gone to that land which only faith can pierce and where only love can follow. There is not a dry eye in the household, when with awesome spirit and noiseless tread they go in to see the last of her. She lies like an exquisite waxen image, her sweet voice silenced, her blithe laugh hushed, her slender white arms crossed on her stilled heart, and a snowy Eucharis lily resting upon her breast. “Oh, my lord! put this somewhere near her from _me_!” poor Hargreaves had said through blinding tears. “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,” and Lord Beranger, knowing with what a true, honest, unselfish love this young fellow had loved his lost child, places the lily on her breast with his own hands. * * * * * The day after Baby is laid to rest, Hargreaves is found near the Beranger vault; one hand grasps a locket with a bit of golden hair in it, near the other hand is the revolver with which he has shot himself. It was true what he had said, that he loved her with the love of a dog, that would just lie down and die beside her grave. But the matter is at once hushed up, for the _convenances_ do not allow of _canaille_ even _killing_ themselves for the sake of daughters of Belgravia. CHAPTER IX. LET THE DEAD PAST BE BURIED. “Let this be said between us here, One love grows green when one turns grey, This year knows nothing of last year, To-morrow has no more to say to yesterday.”