"How noble was his look! you saw him smile!" continued Madeline, talking
to herself: "And they will murder him after all. Let me see, this day
week, ay, ere this day week we shall meet again."

"Faster; for God's sake, Ellinor, tell them to drive faster!" cried
Lester, as he felt the form that leant on his bosom wax heavier and
heavier. They sped on; the house was in sight; that lonely and cheerless
house; not their sweet home at Grassdale, with the ivy round its porch,
and the quiet church behind. The sun was setting slowly, and Ellinor drew
the blind to shade the glare from her sister's eyes.

Madeline felt the kindness, and smiled. Ellinor wiped her eyes, and tried
to smile again. The carriage stopped, and Madeline was lifted out; she
stood, supported by her father and Ellinor, for a moment on the
threshold. She looked on the golden sun, and the gentle earth, and the
little motes dancing in the western ray--all was steeped in quiet, and
full of the peace and tranquillity of the pastoral life! "No, no," she
muttered, grasping her father's hand. "How is this? this is not his hand!
Ah, no, no; I am not with him! Father," she added in a louder and deeper
voice, rising from his breast, and standing alone and unaided. "Father,
bury this little packet with me, they are his letters; do not break the
seal, and--and tell him that I never felt how deeply I--I--loved him--
till all--the world--had--deserted him!"--

She uttered a faint cry of pain, and fell at once to the ground; she
lived a few hours longer, but never made speech or sign, or evinced token
of life but its breath, which died at last gradually,--imperceptibly--
away.