And the two went upstairs together without further words. Mrs. Bellairs
feared lest another strange face at the bedside might disturb the dying
man; she lingered, therefore, at a little distance, but she, too, looked
with wonder at the silent figure lying there in a kind of peaceful
state, all unlike the vagrant Indian--the supposed criminal--she had
heard of. Mrs. Costello came to her, and Lucia sat down in her mother's
place.

"I brought you a message from William," Mrs. Bellairs said. "The order
for his release is come. He is free. Is it too late?"

"Come a little nearer and see for yourself. You will not disturb him.
Yes, dear friend, it is too late for any release but one to reach him
now."

Mrs. Bellairs' lip trembled. "Ah, how cruel it seems!" she said. "How
can you forgive us?"

"Forgive _you_? Why?"

"It seems as if we were to blame, because it was my poor Bella's loss
that brought this on him."

"It was Clarkson's wickedness, nothing else. But do not let us talk of
that. Some good has come out of the evil, as you see."

The eyes of both the friends rested on the father and daughter so
strangely brought together. The strong likeness between them was
unmistakable, yet Lucia's beauty had never been more vivid and striking
than now when she watched her dying father, with the light of such