She was talking very low and slowly, and Magdalen watched her until the lips ceased to move, and the long eyelashes still wet with tears rested upon the flushed cheeks. She was asleep at last, and Magdalen, looking at her, knew that she must have been beautiful in her early girlhood when Arthur Grey had won her for his bride. Traces of beauty she had yet, in the regularity of her features, her well-shaped head, her abundant hair, with just a little ripple in it, her white forehead, and even teeth which showed no signs of decay. She was not old either, and Magdalen thought how young she must have been when she became a wife. “Poor woman! her life has been a failure,” she said, as she drew the covering around the shoulders and over the hands, on one of which the wedding ring and a superb diamond were still shining. Mrs. Jenks seemed in no hurry to resume her post, and weary from her wakefulness of the previous night, Magdalen settled herself in the large easy chair by the bed, and was soon so fast asleep, that until twice repeated she did not hear Honora, who came to tell her that breakfast was waiting for her. CHAPTER XL. A GLIMMER OF LIGHT. All that day Magdalen stayed with Mrs. Grey, who clung to her as a child clings to its mother, and who was more quiet and manageable than she had been in many weeks. Magdalen could soothe and control her as no one else had done since she left the private asylum where her husband had kept her so long, and this she did by the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice, and the glance of her eye, which fascinated and subdued her patient at once. That night Mrs. Seymour and Alice came home, accompanied by Guy. They had not been expected quite so soon, and Magdalen knew nothing of their arrival until Alice, who had heard from Honora what had transpired during her absence, entered the room. Mrs. Grey was sitting up in her large arm-chair, her dressing-gown and shawl carefully arranged, her hair nicely combed, and a look of content upon her face which Alice had rarely seen. She was rocking still, with one foot on the crib and her eyes fixed on Magdalen, who was repeating to her the Culprit Fay, which she knew by heart, and to which the childish woman listened with all the absorbing interest of a little girl of ten. At sight of Alice there came a sudden gleam of joy over her face, succeeded by a look of fear as she wound both arms tightly around Magdalen’s neck, exclaiming: “Oh, Allie, I’m glad you’ve come, but you must not take _her_ away. She does me good. I’m better with her. Say that she may stay.” There was a momentary look of pain in Alice’s eyes at seeing a stranger thus preferred to herself; but that quickly passed, and stooping over her mother, she kissed her tenderly, and said: “Magdalen shall stay with you as long as she will. I am glad you like her so well. We all love Magdalen.”