conversation. I have no doubt," added Dolly a little hypocritically, for she wanted to send poor Mrs. Asherill away happy, "we shall be able to arrive at some understanding." And she stretched out her hand, which Mrs. Asherill took and pressed; then, moved by some impulse she could scarcely have defined, she stooped down and touched the lips of Mortomley's wife, murmuring,

"I wish--I wish, my dear, you were strong and well again."

"Do not fret about me," was the quiet reply. "I shall be well--quite well, some day."

For the remainder of that week Dolly employed herself at intervals in writing. She was always jotting down memoranda; always asking Esther questions about what was done and left undone after their departure. She wrote to Lang, and received a perfect manuscript from him in reply. She wrote to Mr. Leigh, asking him to search the 'Daily News' of a particular week in a particular year for an advertisement which she specified, and by return of post that was forwarded. Finally, she sent a note to Mr. Asherill, directed to Salisbury House, and then she waited patiently for Saturday.

On the evening of that day Mr. Asherill presented himself at the cottage.

He came intending, spite of the character for sanctity he maintained, to tell many a falsehood in explanation of aught which might seem strange to Mrs. Mortomley; indeed, to put the case plainly, _any_ falsehood which might best serve his turn.

His wife had, of course, communicated to him all Mr. Mortomley's wife had said to her, and he walked over to the cottage, thinking how, with his best manner, he might humbug the little woman Mr. Douglas had taken under his fatherly care.

But Dolly's greeting surprised him.

"Thank you very much for coming, Mr. Asherill," she said, holding out her hand; "I think we may shake hands now, for do you know, I fancy I am at the present moment a better Christian than yourself."

"It fills my soul with joy to hear you say so," he was beginning, when she interrupted him.

"I want to speak to you on business very important to myself," she said.

"I want you to do something for me; I did something for you the other day--I kept silence when speech would have made your wife miserable. I did not show her John Jones' letter; I did not tell her of the first advertisement in the 'Daily News;' I did not even try to unmask you; so having established a claim on your gratitude, I want you to gratify the request of a dying woman, for I am dying," she added, speaking with the utmost calmness.

"God bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Asherill, surprised for once out of his worldly and religious conventionality.

"I do not think He will," said Dolly gravely, "unless you alter very much indeed."

"I was not thinking of myself when I made so unmet an exclamation," he explained.

"Oh! of me?" remarked Dolly. "Yes, indeed, what I said was quite true--I shall not be here very long, and I am afraid I cannot go quite happily unless I see some near prospect of my husband obtaining his discharge."

Hearing this, Mr. Asherill shook his head--he was sorry--he feared--he lamented--but he felt compelled to say, he saw no chance of Mr.

Mortomley ever getting free till he had paid ten shillings in the pound.

Then Dolly showed him her hand--showed him the memoranda she had made, the evidence of utter incompetence, of gross mismanagement, of senseless neglect that might be laid before another meeting of creditors.

She showed him that with energy and money the story of Mortomley's Estate might be made something more real than an empty tale; something out of which a man's freedom unjustly withheld could be justly purchased.

"You can get it for him without all that fuss and trouble," she said at last wearily, folding up the papers and laying them aside. "It is to be done quietly, I know; and if you like you can do it."

He remained silent for a few minutes, then he spoke--

"I do not like talking about business on a Sunday, but still this is a work of necessity. I will think the matter over and see you again to-morrow."

"Very well," answered Mrs. Mortomley, adding slily "this is a work of very great necessity."

Mr. Asherill thought it was, at all events. He did not like the turn affairs had taken; and the more he reflected, the more inclined he felt to throw Mr. Swanland over and take sides with Mortomley.

He had, after a fashion, hunted with the hounds, but now, he believed, it might prove both more pleasant and more profitable to run with the hare.

He retraced every step already trodden by his firm. He calculated every inch it would be necessary for him to travel in the future, and the result was, he said to Mrs. Mortomley,

"I think I can do what you require. Some money may be necessary, but perhaps I had better see Mr. Douglas about that?"

"Yes," agreed Dolly, "or Lord Darsham, he has promised help if pecuniary help is needed."

CHAPTER XVI.

CONCLUSION.

It came one glorious morning towards the end of August, when the sunlight was dancing over the Lea, and there was a glory of brightness on the earth as well as on the water.

Mrs. Mortomley sat in an easy-chair drawn close up by the open window, and every now and then those around looked at her with furtive and apprehensive glances. There was no longer any effort at disguise. Her aunt, Mrs. Werner, Mr. and Miss Douglas, Mortomley himself, comprehended the end was very near, and only little Lenore was kept in ignorance.

Dolly insisted upon this and on having her sent to Dassell till all should be over.

"God bless you, my child!" was the mother's fare-well, uttered without a tear.

She wept her tears afterwards when she was all alone.

"I do not feel nearly so well this morning," said Mrs. Mortomley at last. "I do wish, oh! how I wish that London letter would come!"

"Never mind the letter, dear," entreated her husband.

"But I must mind," she answered. "I have so hoped it would come in time."

"So it will," said Mr. Douglas kindly, "you may be quite certain of that, my dear."

She murmured some words, the sense of which was only caught by Mrs.

Werner.

"Not in my time, though."

At that moment the post arrived, and amongst the letters was that Dolly had hoped she might live to read.

Her husband was free, and with a happy smile Dolly leaned back in her chair and scanned the lines as well as weakness would let her.

"You ought not to have risen this morning," said Miss Gerace severely.

"Oh! aunt, I was so weary of the night," and then they looked at each other sadly.

"I wish you would all go away and leave me with Archie," said Mrs.

Mortomley, after a short pause, and accordingly they went, and husband and wife were left alone.

She had nothing to say to him. If she had she could not have said it to him then. He sat holding her hand in his, and she lay, her head resting on the back of the chair, her figure supported by pillows, her eyes closed, hovering as if loth to go, on the very confines of that life which had to her been so full of joy, and so full of sorrow.

All at once she half raised herself from the chair, and, turning towards her husband, said,