Maude Bereford had penned those lines in bitter anguish.  She loved her brother from the depths of her heart.  His life must be spared.  Heaven could not deprive her of such a blessing.  Ah, no, he will live!  In this hour of trial the sorrowing girl sought comfort in those rebellious and sinful thoughts.  She had not the sustaining faith to say, “Thy will be done.”  It is needless to say that Maude’s letter met much sympathy at “The Hall.”  Fanny cried heartily.  She could not think of any thing but the sadness that had fallen upon the inmates of the Castle.

“Poor Lady Rosamond,” exclaimed she, in tones of undisguised sadness, “how she will lament her sad fate if Gerald should die?  Oh, mamma, I cannot think it possible that he must die.”

“Tempt not Heaven, my child, for ‘with God all things are possible,’” said Lady Trevelyan, who was a truly Christian woman.  “Everything is ordered aright,” continued her ladyship, “there are no afflictions or trials in life but what are considered for our good.  It is indeed a heavy blow upon the young wife to lose the husband of her choice, but how many have borne up when deprived of father, mother, husband and child.”

“Oh, mamma,” exclaimed Fanny, “if I could only look upon the ways of Providence in the same manner as you.  I know it is sinful, but I cannot help thinking that it is too hard for Gerald to be taken away from Lady Rosamond.  How I pity her.  Poor dear Maude too.  How badly she must feel.”

The physician’s worst fears were realized.  Spite of every care and precaution a second attack of hemorrhage made its fatal ravages upon the fast sinking body of the sufferer.  Gerald Bereford must die.  All hopes are at an end.  Death has set its seal upon his broad, fair forehead.  Soon the eyes that still fondly linger upon the form of his beautiful wife shall close to open upon the scenes of another world.

This was a bitter trial to Lady Rosamond!  Her husband was to die in a foreign land.  He was to be deprived of a last farewell to the dear friends at home.  Such thoughts, bore heavily upon the susceptible nature of this faithful woman.  Could she then have gathered those loved ones around the dying bed of her husband, she would have sacrificed every earthly desire; yes, her life.  Then did she think of her friend, Mary Douglas; then did she need the consolation of a true Christian friend.  Like a ministering angel, she strove to soothe the last hours of her dying husband.  Never was woman more devoted, heroic and patient.  Not a murmur escaped her lips as she sat for hours watching the quickening breath in death-like struggle, convulsing the almost lifeless form of one who had ever been kind, dutiful, loving, and true to his vow.

On his death-bed, Gerald Bereford felt no pangs of remorse devouring his latest thoughts.  He could die in the belief of having been ever devoted to her whom he had promised to love, cherish and protect.  Keenly did Lady Rosamond feel this reflection.  Had her husband been less kind, generous and true, she could have borne the present with a firmness worthy of her spirit.  But the thoughts that now filled her breast were maddening, merciless and torturing.