cheeks tears coursed rapidly. Struggling to free herself from his
restraining grasp, the stranger tottered into the middle of the
room.

"O Harry! My husband! my husband!" She threw up her wasted arms, and
fell forward senseless on the corpse.

They bore her into the adjoining apartment, where the surgeon
administered the usual restoratives, and though finally the pulses
stirred and throbbed feebly, no symptom of returning consciousness
greeted the anxious friends who bent over her. Hour after hour
passed, during which she lay as motionless as her husband's body,
and at length the physician sighed, and pressing his fingers to his
eyes, said sorrowfully to the grief-stricken old man beside her: "It
is paralysis, Mr. Dent, and there is no hope. She may linger twelve
or twenty-four hours, but her sorrows are ended; she and Harry will
soon be reunited. Knowing her constitution, I feared as much. You
should not have suffered her to come; you might have known that the
shock would kill her. For this reason I wished his body buried
here."

"I could not restrain her. Some meddling gossip told her that my
poor boy had gone to fight a duel, and she rose from her bed and
started to the railroad depot. I pleaded, I reasoned with her that
she could not bear the journey, but I might as well have talked to
the winds, I never knew her obstinate before, but she seemed to have
a presentiment of the truth. God pity her two sweet babes!"

The old man bowed his head upon her pillow, and sobbed aloud.