Lady Hampton went over to Darrell Court, and assisted in attending to the invalid; but her thoughts ran more on Lord Aynsley, and the chances of his renewing his offer, than on anything else. Elinor would soon recover, there was no fear; the shock to her nerves had been great, but people never died of nervousness; and, when she did get well, Lady Hampton intended to propose a season in London. But Lady Darrell did not get well as soon as Lady Hampton had anticipated. Indeed, more than one clever doctor, on leaving her presence, shook his head gravely, and said it was doubtful whether Lady Darrell would ever recover at all; the shock to her nerves had been terrible. But there was something to be said also of a blighted life and a broken heart. Autumn had drifted into winter; and one morning Lady Darrell, who had been sleeping more soundly than usual, suddenly turned to Pauline, who seldom left her. "Pauline," she whispered, "you have not told any one, have you?" "Told what?" she inquired. "About poor Aubrey's faults. I know now that he was guilty. Strange, solemn thoughts, strange revelations, come to us, are made to us in sickness, when we lie, where I have been lying, in the valley of the shadow of death. I know that he was guilty, and that he died in his sin. I know it now, Pauline." Miss Darrell bent over her and kissed the white brow. "Listen to me, dear," continued the weak voice. "Let this secret die with us--let there be a bond between us never to reveal it. You will never tell any one about it, will you, Pauline?" "No," she replied, "never. I should never have told you but that I hoped to save you from a dreadful fate--and it would have been a dreadful fate for you to have married him; he would have broken your heart." "It is broken now," she said, gently. "Yet it comforts me to know that no reproach will be heaped on Aubrey's memory." "You will get better," observed Pauline, hopefully, "and then there will be happier days in store for you." "There will be no happy days for me," returned Lady Darrell, sorrowfully. "You see, Pauline, I loved him very dearly--more dearly than I knew. I had never loved any one very much until I saw him. I could more easily have checked a raging fire than have restrained my love after I had once given it. My life had in some way passed into his, and now I do not care to live." "But you have so much to live for," said Pauline. "Not now. I do not care for aught about me. I have tried to remember Darrell Court and all my wealth and grandeur, but they give me no pleasure--the shadow of death lies over all." And it was all in vain that Pauline tried to rouse her; Lady Darrell, after her unhappy love, never cared to be roused again. Lady Hampton would not think seriously of her illness--it would pass away in time, she said; but Miss Hastings shook her head gravely, and feared the worst.