As for Mr. Bernard, he found it very hard to look upon her and listen to her unmoved.  There was nothing that reminded him of the stormy-browed, almost savage girl he remembered in her fierce loveliness,—­nothing of all her singularities of air and of costume.  Nothing?  Yes, one thing.  Weak and suffering as she was, she had never parted with one particular ornament, such as a sick person would naturally, as it might be supposed, get rid of at once.  The golden cord which she wore round her neck at the great party was still there.  A bracelet was lying by her pillow; she had unclasped it from her wrist.

Before Mr. Bernard left her, she said,—­“I shall never see you again.  Some time or other, perhaps, you will mention my name to one whom you love.  Give her this from your scholar and friend Elsie.”

He took the bracelet, raised her hand to his lips, then turned his face away; in that moment he was the weaker of the two.

“Good-bye,” she said; “thank you for coming.”

His voice died away in his throat, as he tried to answer her.  She followed him with her eyes as he passed from her sight through the door, and when it closed after him sobbed tremulously once or twice,—­but stilled herself, and met Helen, as she entered, with a composed countenance.

“I have had a very pleasant visit from Mr. Langdon,” Elsie said.  “Sit by me, Helen, awhile without speaking; I should like to sleep, if I can,—­and to dream.”

CHAPTER XXX.

THE GOLDEN CORD IS LOOSED.

The Reverend Chauncy Fairweather, hearing that his parishioner’s daughter, Elsie, was very ill, could do nothing less than come to the mansion-house and tender such consolations as he was master of.  It was rather remarkable that the old Doctor did not exactly approve of his visit.  He thought that company of every sort might be injurious in her weak state.  He was of opinion that Mr. Fairweather, though greatly interested in religious matters, was not the most sympathetic person that could be found; in fact, the old Doctor thought he was too much taken up with his own interests for eternity to give himself quite so heartily to the need of other people as some persons got up on a rather more generous scale (our good neighbor Dr. Honeywood, for instance) could do.  However, all these things had better be arranged to suit her wants; if she would like to talk with a clergyman, she had a great deal better see one as often as she liked, and run the risk of the excitement, than have a hidden wish for such a visit and perhaps find herself too weak to see him by-and-by.