Inside, the scene had hardly changed. The light of the lamp seemed to have grown so ghostly that the nurse had turned it out, and, drawing the blinds, let the faint morning light come in. It fell on the beautiful face that had grown even whiter in the presence of death. Lady Charlewood was dying; yet the feeble arms held the little child tightly. She looked up as her husband entered the room. He had combated by a strong effort all outward manifestations of despair. "Hubert," whispered the sweet, faint voice, "see, this is our little daughter." He bent down, but he could not see the child for the tears that filled his eyes. "Our little daughter," she repeated; "and they say, Hubert, that I have given my life for hers. Is it true?" He looked at the two doctors; he looked at the white face bearing the solemn, serene impress of death. It would be cruel to deceive her now, when the hands that caressed the little child were already growing colder. "Is it true, Hubert?" she repeated, a clear light shining in her dying eyes. "Yes, my darling, it is true," he said, in a low voice. "I am dying--really dying--when I have my baby and you?" she questioned. "Oh, Hubert, is it really true?" Nothing but his sobs answered her; dying as she was, all sweet, womanly compassion awoke in her heart. "Hubert," she whispered--"oh, my darling, if you could come with me!--I want to see you kiss the baby while it lies here in my arms." He bent down and kissed the tiny face, she watching him all the time. "You will be very kind to her, darling, for my sake, because you have loved me so much, and call her by my name--Madaline. Tell her about me when she grows up--how young I was to die, how dearly I loved you, and how I held her in my arms. You will not forget?" "No," he said, gently; "I shall not forget." The hapless young mother kissed the tiny rosebud face, all the passion and anguish of her love shining in her dying eyes; and then the nurse carried the babe away. "Hubert," said Lady Charlewood, in a low, soft, whisper, "may I die in your arms, darling?" She laid her head on his breast, and looked at him with the sweet content of a little child. "I am so young," she said, gently, "to die--to leave you Hubert. I have been so happy with you--I love you so much." "Oh, my wife, my wife!" he groaned, "how am I to bear it?" The white hands softly clasped his own. "You will bear it in time," she said. "I know how you will miss me; but you have the baby and your father--you will find enough to fill your life. But you will always love me best--I know that, Hubert. My heart feels so strange; it seems to stop, and then to beat slowly. Lay your face on mine, darling." He did just as she requested, whispering sweet, solemn words of comfort; and then, beneath his own he felt her lips grow cold and still. Presently he heard one long, deep-drawn sigh. Some one raised the sweet head from his breast, and laid it back upon the pillow. He knew she was dead.