some moments. A soft step glided into the room--it was the unhappy
father's. He came to the other side of his daughter, and sobbed
convulsively.

She then raised herself, and even in the shades of death, a faint blush
passed over her cheek.

"My good dear father, what comfort will it give you hereafter to think
how fondly you spoiled your Florence!"

Lord Saxingham could not answer: he clasped her in his arms and wept
over her. Then he broke away--looked on her with a shudder--

"O God!" he cried, "she is dead--she is dead!"

Maltravers started. The physician kindly approached, and, taking Lord
Saxingham's hand, led him from the room--he went mute and obedient like
a child.

But the struggle was not yet past. Florence once more opened her eyes,
and Maltravers uttered a cry of joy. But along those eyes the film was
darkening rapidly, as still through the mist and shadow they sought the
beloved countenance which hung over her, as if to breathe life into
waning life. Twice her lips moved, but her voice failed her; she shook
her head sadly.

Maltravers hastily held to her mouth a cordial which lay ready on the
table near her, but scarce had it moistened her lips, when her whole
frame grew heavier and heavier, in his clasp. Her head once more sank
upon his bosom--she thrice gasped wildly for breath--and at length,