been with her--that was, for about a year
and a half--in declining health and spirits,
and that she had loved her little child to a
degree beyond expression--so devotedly
that she could not, in all probability,
survive it long.

While she was running on in this way
the bell rang, and signing me to follow,
she opened the room door, but stopped in
the hall, and taking me a little aside, and
speaking in a whisper, she told me, as I
valued the life of the poor lady, not to say
one word of the death of young O'Mara.
I nodded acquiescence, and ascending a
narrow and ill-constructed staircase, she
stopped at a chamber door and knocked.

'Come in,' said a gentle voice from
within, and, preceded by my conductress,
I entered a moderately-sized, but rather
gloomy chamber.

There was but one living form within it
--it was the light and graceful figure of a
young woman. She had risen as I
entered the room; but owing to the
obscurity of the apartment, and to the
circumstance that her face, as she looked
towards the door, was turned away from