fame seeks too fondly, to prove that mind never works, however
erratically, in vain, and to retain yet, as an influence upon earth, the
soul about to soar far beyond the atmosphere where the elements that make
fame abide. Not thus had the dying man interpreted the endurance of
light and thought.

Suddenly, in the midst of his revery, a loud cry broke on his ear. He
shuddered as he heard, and hastened forebodingly into the adjoining room.
The old woman was kneeling by the bedside, and chafing Burley's hand,
eagerly looking into his face. A glance sufficed to Leonard. All was
over. Burley had died in sleep,--calmly, and without a groan.

The eyes were half open, with that look of inexpressible softness which
death sometimes leaves; and still they were turned towards the light; and
the light burned clear.

Leonard closed tenderly the heavy lids; and as he covered the face, the
lips smiled a serene farewell.




CHAPTER XIII.

We have seen Squire Hazeldean (proud of the contents of his pocketbook,
and his knowledge of the mercenary nature of foreign women) set off on
his visit to Beatrice di Negra. Randal thus left, musing lone in the
crowded streets, resolved with astute complacency the probable results of
Mr. Hazeldean's bluff negotiation; and convincing himself that one of his
vistas towards Fortune was becoming more clear and clear, he turned, with