their united love.

They had been married six years when the death of the dear brother
cast so deep a shadow over their hitherto happy home. Matilda's
failing health scarce attracted attention, it was so gradual.

A slight cough, a deeper rose upon the cheek, and a brighter fire in
the eye, were almost its only indications. It was a calm evening in
the early part of June, as Charles and Matilda sauntered forth to
inhale the sweet fragrance of the evening breeze that fanned the
leaves of the trees, and wafted the odors of many flowers upon its
downy pinions, and rippling the now quiet waters of the Sandy river
that lay in peaceful repose, its glassy surface reflecting the mild
radiance of the setting sun.

Before them ran their little children in all their sportive gaiety,
clapping their hands with joyous glee, as they watched the progress of
a little boat that was plying its way across the river, and listening
to the boatman's whistle, and the splashing of the oar as it dipped
the silver waves. The towering mountains rose high above their heads,
and "Father Abraham" looked as though it were about to fall and crush
them as they seated themselves at its base, to gaze upon the prospect
before them. Charles adjusted Matilda's shawl as she seated herself by
his side, with a sharp cough.

He glanced anxiously toward her, but became reassured as the deep
crimson upon her cheek and the bright sparkle of her eye met his gaze.

She sat looking pensively towards the river for some time, with her
cheek resting upon her husband's shoulder, and occasionally watching