Chapter 17 A NEW MASTER

In the dark chambère, if the bride was fair,

Ye wis, I could not see.

. . . .

And the bride rose from her knee

And kissed the smile of her mother dead.

E. B. Browning, The Romaunt of the Page.

The Lady of Whitburn lingered from day to day, sometimes showing signs of consciousness, and of knowing her daughter, but never really revi