resort, and one that, I doubted not, had often been the witness of the
early confidence between Grace and her recreant lover. Death was actually
hovering over that sainted being at the moment; but her woman's heart was
not, _could_ not, be insensible to the impressions produced by such a
sight. In vain the warm light from the heavens bathed the whole landscape
in a flood of glory; in vain the meadows put forth their flowers, the
woods their variegated, bright, American verdure, and the birds their
innocent gaiety and brilliant plumage; the fancy of Grace was portraying
scenes that had once been connected with the engrossing sentiment of her
life. I felt her tremble, as she lay in my arms; and bending my head
towards her in tender concern, I could just distinguish the murmuring of a
prayer that it was easy to understand was a petition offered up in behalf
of Rupert. This done, she asked, herself, to have the curtain drawn again,
to shut out the obtrusive thought for ever.

I have often thought, since the events of that sad day that Grace's
dissolution was hastened by this accidental recurrence of her mind to
Rupert and his forgotten love. I call it love, though I question if a
being so thoroughly selfish ever truly loved any one but himself; perhaps
not himself, indeed, in a way to entitle the feeling to so respectable an
epithet. Grace certainly drooped the faster from that unfortunate moment.
It is true, we all expected her death, thought it would occur that day
even, though surprised at the suddenness with which it came at last; but
we did not expect it within an hour.

And what an hour was that which succeeded! Both Mr. Hardinge and Lucy
passed quite half of it on their knees, engaged in silent prayer; for it
was thought petitions uttered aloud might disturb the sick. There were
minutes in which the stillness of the tomb already reigned among us. I am
not enough of a physician to say whether the change that now came over my