When you are safe with Madame Beaufort, in Paris, open and read this--not before.

You promise, Harrie ?" "Anything, papa--everything!" She hid it away in her bosom.

"And now try to sleep; you are talking a great deal too much." "Sing for me, then." She obeyed the strange request--he had always loved to hear her sing.
She commenced a plaintive little song, and before it was finished he was asleep.
All night long she watched by his bedside.

Now he slept, now he woke up fitfully, now he fell into a lethargic repose.

The doctor and Sir Everard kept watch in an adjoining chamber, within sight of that girlish form.
Once, in the small hours, the sick man looked at her clearly, and spoke aloud: "Wake me at day-dawn, Harrie." "Yes, papa." And then he slept again.