ground, his face buried in the scattered snow, and his outstretched
hand grasping a pistol. Julia leaped through the open casement
with a wild shriek, and flung herself on her knees beside him.

"Phil! Phil!" she said, "what have you done? what has happened?
Speak to me!"

But the only response was a faint, low moan.

Philip Brian had shot himself!

In an agony of grief and horror Julia lifted his head upon her arm,
and pressed her hand to his heart. The movement recalled him to
life for a few moments; he opened his eyes, looked at her, and
uttered a few broken words. She stooped and listened eagerly.

"The letter!" he gasped; "the letter you sent me! O Julia, you
have broken my heart! How could you be false to me, and I loving
you--trusting you--so wholly! But at least I shall not live to
see you wed the man you have chosen; I came here tonight to die,
since without you life would be intolerable. See what you have done!"

Desperate and silent, she wound her arms around him, and pressed
her lips to his. A convulsive shudder seized him; his eyes rolled
back, and with a sigh he resigned himself to the death he had courted
so madly. Death in the passion of a last kiss!

Julia sat still, the corpse of her lover supported on her arm, and
her hand clasped in his, tearless and frigid as though she had been
turned into stone by some fearful spell. Half hidden in the bosom