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(They never called Robert Master.')

Phillis' eyes grew round with horror, while the ghastliest fancies, thoughts the most awful, crowded into her brain. Her suspicions leaped at once to the worst-he had fulfilled his oft-repeated threat; he had made away with himself.

The drawn agony of her face, the blank, unseeing gaze of her frightened eyes, may have told those with her what was in her mind. At any rate, Sarah did the most merciful thing in her power; she delayed no longer, and without further preparation she blurted out the truth:

'He's been fighting in his drink, and he's got badly hurt, and they don't know if he'll ever recover; that's what it is. Oh! miss, don't take on about it.'

Yes, that was it, or rather, it was even more; the truth had been a little disguised.

Robert Maitland had caused his sister her last anxiety on his account; given birth to the last pang his conduct would inflict.

Cut down suddenly, in the midst of sin and degradation-as he had lived, so had he died.

'Accidental death: caused by a blow received in a drunken quarrel.' That was the verdict pronounced by the coroner a few days later.

Fit ending to such a life.

CHAPTER V.

THE BITTER END.

THE illness which Phillis had felt to be impending over her, did not prove as serious as she had feared before, and as her servants had prophesied. It did not threaten her life, nor even lay her low for many weeks on a bed of sickness; but it visited her in mercy, for it held her captive for days after her brother's horrible death-it racked her limbs with pain, and dulled her brain with fever-and kept her, if not from the knowledge, at least from the full realisation of all that occurred.

Whilst the Hamsford Tragedy' (as the townspeople delighted in calling it), the coroner's inquest and the committal for trial of the man who had struck the fatal blow, were in the mouths of every one-and many were the speculations as to how Miss Maitland took this fresh trouble, this crowning disgrace-the centre of all this talk and wonderment, the heroine of so much woe, was, if not unconscious, at least almost indifferent to it all.

When her kind friend Mr. Rowley hastened to her, directly he was aware of the horrible catastrophe, hoping to be the first to see her and break it to her, fever had already laid its burning hand upon her; she was restless and excited, but tearless; her one thought being that 'it should be kept quiet, and no one should know.'

The Vicar could have told her that such news as this would spread abroad like wild-fire, that to-morrow the local papers would be full of it—but he forbore; he saw that she was in no state for reason or argument, and he could only pacify her by promising that he would not write himself, or allow any one else to write, to Sir John Pemberton, or any other of her relations.

'They disowned me, and they have cast him off; they shall not know about my troubles, or triumph over me in my misery. Everything shall be quite quiet-promise me, Mr. Rowley?'

He knew that, virtually, Phillis stood quite by herself, that she was isolated from the rest of her family, and that she had borne alone and unassisted the burden and responsibility of her brother's miserable existence since her mother's death. It was therefore hard, he thought, if she might not follow her own wishes at such a time as this; so he promised.

It was fortunate for him that he did so; for Phillis' words during this conversation were the sole guides

he had his promise to her his only authority, when the time came for arrangements to be made.

He had felt that what the poor girl stood most in need of was medical aid, not spiritual comfort; and on leaving her himself, he despatched the Hamsford doctor to her at once. That gentleman insisted on her being put to bed immediately, and prescribed for her as for a 'very severe cold accompanied by feverish symptoms; but to Mr. and Mrs. Rowley, whom he visited that evening, he confided his opinion that Miss Maitland was 'in for an attack of brain fever,' and would require very careful nursing.

The shock she had received that day, coming at a time when she was predisposed to illness, might have the most serious consequences. So for the next week Phillis was kept in a darkened room, with wet cloths to cool her burning head, and ice to moisten her parched throat; and was restless and fever-stricken, often confused in mind, and always incapable of continuous thought. She had, in fact, what Dr. Jenkins called a 'near shave' of the brain fever he had threatened her with.

Mrs. Rowley, whose heart was kind, though her mind was narrow, forgot her prejudices against Phillis in her present misfortunes, and was unwearying in her attendance on the sick-room. The first sight of her seemed to stir up distressing thoughts and memories in the poor girl's mind, and she grew painfully incoherent in the expression of her desire to see Mr.

Rowley, and the attempt to explain what she wanted to say to him.

Fearful of the effects of agitation, Mrs. Rowley assured her, with soothing confidence, that she might set her mind at rest, as Mr. Rowley would arrange about everything, and she need not think about telling him what to do.

And so it came to pass that all the arrangements consequent on Robert Maitland's miserable death, and connected with his funeral, fell to the care of the Vicar of Hamsford; who, acting on his own responsibility, and what he knew would have been Phillis' wishes, conducted everything with the greatest quietness that the circumstances allowed.

Though crowds were collected at the cemetery gates to see the drunkard (or, as some called him, 'the murdered man') buried, the only two who followed the procession to the grave were the curate and the doctor; both actuated by the same feeling-respect for the poor sister at home.

And so the body of Robert Maitland was laid in the ground.

Those who were nursing Phillis hoped that the day of the funeral would pass unnoticed by her, and that her brain was too confused for her to heed the sound of the tolling bell. It may have been so; but who can tell what passes in the minds of such as are incapable of expressing their thoughts? or who can

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