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Updated: June 24, 2025
The question seemed almost ironical to the doctor, who had so much more time to spare than he cared to have. He sat down by Lord Charlewood's side, and they held together the conversation that led to such strange results. "I should not like a cold, stone grave for my beautiful wife," said Lord Charlewood.
"Lady Mrs Charlewood is not so well as I had hoped she would be. Dr. Evans is considered very clever. I should like further advice. Shall I send for him?" The sudden flash of agony that came into Lord Charlewood's face was a revelation to Dr. Letsom; he laid his hand with a gentle touch on the stranger's arm. "Do not fear the worst," he said. "She is in the hands of Heaven.
He died as he had lived, loving and trusting his son, clasping his hand to the last, and murmuring sweet and tender words to him. Lord Charlewood's heart smote him as he listened, he had not merited such implicit faith and trust. "Father," he said, "listen for one moment! Can you hear me?
The earl was the first to notice the change that had come over his bright, handsome boy; the music had all gone from his voice, the ring from his laughter, the light from his face. Presently he observed the deep mourning dress. "Hubert," he asked, suddenly, "for whom are you in mourning?" Lord Charlewood's face flushed. For one moment he felt tempted to answer
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