"Thank God you're come, Mr. Hammond!" Harry exclaimed, and began to pour out his story in such haste that it was a couple of minutes before Godfrey fully understood him. The new-comer listened attentively, asking a question or two. He brushed some imperceptible dust from his gray coat-sleeve, and sticking his glass in his eye he surveyed the farmhouse. "I think I should like to see Mrs. Middleton at once," he said when Hardwicke had finished. Sarah showed him the way, but he preferred to announce himself. He knocked at the door. "Who is there?" said the voice within. "It is I, Godfrey Hammond: I may come in?" "Yes." He opened the door and saw her sitting by the bedside, where something lay white and straight and still. She turned her head as he entered, then stood up and came a step or two to meet him. "Oh, Godfrey!" she said in a low voice, "she died this morning." He put his arm about her. "I would have been here before if I could," he said. "I knew it." She trembled so much that he drew her nearer, supporting her as tenderly as if he were her son, though his face above her was unmoved as ever. "She died this morning," Mrs. Middleton repeated. She hid her face suddenly and burst into a passion of tears. "Oh, Godfrey! she was hurt so! she was hurt so! Oh my darling!" "We could not wish her to linger in pain," he said softly. "No, no. But only this morning, and I feel as if I had been alone for years!" Still, through her weeping, she clung to him. His sympathy made a faint glimmer of light in the darkness, and her sad eyes turned to it. CHAPTER LIII. AFTERWARD.