"old General Fane is taken with the gout in his stomach, and has sent
for you to watch by his death-bed. Make haste, for there is no time
to lose!"

"Fane! Edward Fane! And has he sent for me at last? I am ready! I
will get on my cloak and begone. So," adds the sable-gowned, ashen-
visaged, funereal old figure, "Edward Fane remembers his Rosebud!"

Our question is answered. There is a germ of bliss within her. Her
long-hoarded constancy--her memory of the bliss that was--remaining
amid the gloom of her after life, like a sweet-smelling flower in a
coffin, is a symbol that all maybe renewed. In some happier clime,
the Rosebud may revive again with all the dewdrops in its bosom.