She said that, about two o'clock, she had been awakened by unusual restlessness on Madame de Crequy's part; that she had gone to her bedside, and found the poor lady feebly but perpetually moving her wasted arm up and down--and saying to herself in a wailing voice: 'I did not bless him when he left me--I did not bless him when he left me!' Medlicott gave her a spoonful or two of jelly, and sat by her, stroking her hand, and soothing her till she seemed to fall asleep.

But in the morning she was dead." "It is a sad story, your ladyship," said I, after a while.
"Yes it is.

People seldom arrive at my age without having watched the beginning, middle, and end of many lives and many fortunes.

We do not talk about them, perhaps; for they are often so sacred to us, from having touched into the very quick of our own hearts, as it were, or into those of others who are dead and gone, and veiled over from human sight, that we cannot tell the tale as if it was a mere story.

But young people should remember that we have had this solemn experience of life, on which to base our opinions and form our judgments, so that they are not mere untried theories.