`No, my own one,' said Arthur, taking it from her. `What could you inscribe better than that? Could any human name mark it more clearly as my own individual property? Are you not mine? Are you not,' (with all the old playfulness of manner) `as Bruno would say, "my very mine"?'

He bade a long and loving adieu to the Earl and to me, and left the room, accompanied only by his wife, who was bearing up bravely, and was--outwardly, at least--less overcome than her old father. We waited in the room a minute or two, till the sounds of wheels had told us that Arthur had driven away; and even then we waited still, for the step of Lady Muriel, going upstairs to her room, to die away in the distance. Her step, usually so light and joyous, now sounded slow and weary, like one who plods on under a load of hopeless misery; and I felt almost as hopeless, and almost as wretched as she. `Are we four destined ever to meet again, on this side the grave?' I asked myself, as I walked to my home. And the tolling of a distant bell seemed to answer me, `No! No, No!'