'Tell them to send a groom down to the Albany at once,' said Forestfield, 'to say to Sir Nugent Uffington, with my compliments, that Lady Forestfield is very ill, and would be glad to speak to him directly.' Then he shut himself up in his room and fell into a reverie. Hitherto he had only dimly contemplated the idea of losing his wife; now, if what the woman said was correct, her death must be a certainty. In the multitude of thoughts which came crowding upon his brain, regret for the loss of the woman whom he had sworn to love, and to whom he had quite recently renewed his vow, had no part. What struck him most forcibly, and remained by him longest, was the reflection that he would be free to do as he liked, and that she would be no longer a reproach to him. That thought was still in his mind, when the messenger returned to say that Sir Nugent Uffington was at Brighton, but that a telegram had been despatched to him. Uffington arrived that afternoon. Lord Forestfield was out, the nurse said, but she had orders to show him at once into the sick-room. Her ladyship was very bad, the woman said, in answer to his eager inquiry, 'was sinking fast, and could not possibly last through the night, but was wonderfully calm and composed, and had all her senses about her.' Uffington set his teeth hard, and followed his guide with a noiseless footstep. In the uncertain twilight he saw May lying on the bed, covered with a light cashmere shawl. She was dreadfully wan and emaciated; but she knew him as he approached, and welcomed him with something like one of her old smiles. 'I knew you would come,' she said in a very low voice; 'and I knew you would be shocked at the change in me, and at the thought that I was going to die. So I would not send for you--until--until the very last.' 'You should have let me know sooner of your illness,' said Uffington, with tears rolling down his cheeks. 'I was at Brighton when your message arrived.' 'Yes, I know,' said May. 'Mrs. Chadwick and Eleanor are there, are they not?' 'They are,' said Uffington. 'I came straight from their house.' 'Tell me,' said May, laying her thin burning hand on his. 'I always thought you liked Eleanor; was I right?' 'You were,' said Uffington. 'I have told her so, and she has agreed to marry me.' 'Ah, thank God for that!' said May reverently. 'Eleanor's happiness was all I was anxious for; for I loved her very dearly.' 'And she loves you better than any one on earth--better than she loves me, I fancy. She wanted me to bring her to you now.'