The record-union., 1896-08-16
given her a vast sense of Importance.

wrote begging that / might be allowed
to come and see her. / put in my letter
none of our wonted nonsense about my
name-child; 1 thought if Siegried was
very i'll that she might give the letter
to her husband to answer, and 1 had
no reason to think that he shared our
condolences. An answer came. as had
hoped, almost by return of post:
My wife is very i'll. She has ex-
pressed a wish to see you and the doc
tor has given orders that she is to be
humored in every possible way. The
time is very short, but she may live till
the end of the week, and l think you can
| reach here by then, if you travel night
| and day
Travel night and day!' What sort
of a brain had this man that he did not
telegraph! l was on the road ten min
utes after 1 had received the letter. but
even SO. the journey from Paris to
Yorkshire cannot be done in less than
| eighteen hours.
At Kirkby Stephen a carriage was
awaiting me, and an elderly woman met
me on the platform.
Am in time?' asked her.
Yes. ma'am. At least. my lady was
alive when we left" she answered.
| 1t was a long drive to the house, but /
| did not speak to her again. | seemed
to suspect, unreasonably perhaps. that
| she was not feeling sympathetic to-
wards my coming
| Siegried's husband met me at the hall
door. He was a handsome. stern-Ioolz-
ing man of about 10. pale, now. and
| haggard about the eyes.
Palm Will take you up, he said:
| you had better go at once, or it may
| be too late. There is sone-
thing on her mind
| woman with gentle face came for
ward and led me upstairs At the door
of the sick room she paused a moment
and turned
Il think she has waited for you.
ma am, she said in whisper
she had waited-at least something
that was the mere shadow and memory
OF my Slegried had waited-to say good
by. 1t was no more than that She
| smiled family when she saw me, and
when sat near her and took her hand
she moved her fingers a little as if she
would have clasped mine Presently
her lips moved. and 1 bent forward to
catch what she said:
Il meant-to-tell-you The
pox Palin-knows"
turned to Palm
Il have a box for you, maam." she
said. 1T is sealed and locked. and this
| IS the key l have promised my lady to
give 1t into your own hands"
Slegried smiled again family when
Palln said this, in the manner of one re-
citlng a lesson, and afterwards she did
not speak again, but lay with her hand
on mine, and look of quiet happiness
on her face
When the doctor came 1 was shown to
my room. and / did not go in to Siegried
again that night, as she was under an
opiate.
Sir John and I dined together, and
during the meal he made a determined
and, to me, very painful effort to keep
| UP some sort of conversation He had
curiously inadequate phrase on which
he fell back over and over again:
| Most unfortunate" l got it fixed in
my brain that this was what he would
| say when his wife's death was an
| nounced to him. All this time l was
| longing to see my "name-child' long
ing to ask for her. And though it was
| on my tongue dozen times, something
| always prevented me from speaking
| There had been no mention of her no
sign or sound of child about the house
| 1t must be that she had been sent away
| with her nurse, when the end came so
| near. And yet how cruel that was to
| Siegried. Surely there could be no dam
ger in letting her see her baby to the
last One reference Sir John did make
7 asked him how long Siegried's case
| had been hopeless.
| Ever since the bn
| that was the mistake. Most unfortu-
| nate,'
| Then, after a pause, he added alb
ruptly:
we wished very much to have a son;
| it was-important. l think it preyed on
| my wife's mind. 1t was most
/ could not bear to hear that word
| again, and l broke in hastily:
Il never gathered that from her let
ters-I think Siegried was quite con-
tent
Sir John looked at me steadily for
moment under lowered eyebrows, and
then leaned back in his chair without
speaking. The words + had been going
| to say about the little Margaret died on
my lips.
The next morning early, Palm came
to my room carrying a small oak Golfer,
carved and curiously ornamented with
silver. There We're marks of recent
tears upon her face.
1T is all over, ma'am," she said. "And
this is the box my lady spoke Of
She set it down, and turned to leave
the room. Near the door she hesitated
Shall you stay, ma am, for the
funeral?"
ooh, no. I said hastily; 81 have no
place here-I shall go back to London
this morning"
Il shall stay-for that" said the
woman, "and then my service in this
house ends" And she went swiftly out
of the room.
Some feeling Of loyalty to Siegried
prevented me from breaking the seals of
the box while I was under that roof AS
soon as I got back to my London home
carried it to my room and tenderIy and
reverently undid all the fastenings. and
raised the lid. What I found there
struck me motionless with amazement
Wrapped away carefully, each one tied
and duly labelled, were all the presents
| had sent to my name-child. The little
boots 7 had made, fresh as when they
left my hands, with no print of little
feet in them. The gold and scarlet
cloak, with it's color undimmed and the
gold untarnished. The big Japanese
doll. without mark or scratch upon
1.-THE doll I had pictured little Mar
garet pulling after her by one arm
among the flower beds Not a single
thing was wanting. Bonbons, toys,
piuafores, corals-all We're there At
last came upon slip of paper with