Five o'clock! The chimes had played the hour, the church clock had struck; the laborers were going to the fields, the dairy-maids were beginning their work; the sky had grown clear and blue, the long night of agony was over.

The Angel of Death had spread his wings over the doctor's house, and awaited only the moment when his sword should fall.
Inside, the scene had hardly changed.

The light of the lamp seemed to have grown so ghostly that the nurse had turned it out, and, drawing the blinds, let the faint morning light come in.

It fell on the beautiful face that had grown even whiter in the presence of death.

Lady Charlewood was dying; yet the feeble arms held the little child tightly.
She looked up as her husband entered the room.