It gleamed through the open door of a small bedroom to the left, through which Beaufort perceived the forms of two women.

One (it was the kindly maidservant) was seated on a chair, and weeping bitterly; the other (it was a hireling nurse, in the first and last day of her attendance) was unpinning her dingy shawl before she lay down to take a nap.

She turned her vacant, listless face upon the two men, put on a doleful smile, and decently closed the door.
"Where are we, I say, Arthur ?" repeated Mr.Beaufort.Arthur took his father's hand-drew him into a room to the right--and taking up the candle, placed it on a small table beside a bell, and said, "Here, sir--in the presence of Death!" Mr.Beaufort cast a hurried and fearful glance on the still, wan, serene face beneath his eyes, and recognised in that glance the features of the neglected and the once adored Catherine.
"Yes--she, whom your brother so loved--the mother of his children--died in this squalid room, and far from her sons, in poverty, in sorrow! died of a broken heart! Was that well, father?
Have you in this nothing to repent ?" Conscience-stricken and appalled, the worldly man sank down on a seat beside the bed, and covered his face with his hands.
"Ay," continued Arthur, almost bitterly--"ay, we, his nearest of kin--we, who have inherited his lands and gold--we have been thus heedless of the great legacy your brother bequeathed to us:--the things dearest to him--the woman he loved--the children his death cast, nameless and branded, on the world.

Ay, weep, father: and while you weep, think of the future, of reparation.

I have sworn to that clay to befriend her sons; join you, who have all the power to fulfil the promise--join in that vow: and may Heaven not visit on us both the woes of this bed of death!" "I did not know--I--I--" faltered Mr.Beaufort.
"But we should have known," interrupted Arthur, mournfully.