y in the blue arch of heaven, glowing with the gorgeous
hues of a tropical sunset.

The floor of this room was inlaid with marble of different colors, and
the couch and windows were draped with snowy lace, lightly embroidered
at the edges, and looped with cords of blue and silver--tables with
marble tops, supporting porcelain vases filled with flowers, were
placed between the windows, for these ephemeral children of sunshine
were dear to the heart of the dying one. Beside one of these stood a
large cushioned chair, in which reclined a young man of delicate
features and wasted form. He appeared in the last stages of his fell
disease, and the friends who had received him beneath their roof to
die, wondered that he should have been deluded with the hope that
health could ever again reanimate his bowed and shrunken form. There
was an expression of care upon his sharpened features--a feverish
restlessness in his manner, which betrayed the spirit's unrest.

At his feet sat a young girl, whose brilliant complexion and
pale-brown hair betrayed her Saxon origin; the finely rounded figure,
the delicately formed feet and hands, and the gracefully turned head
and bust, were all evidences of the grade of life to which she
belonged. She held the burning hand of the invalid between her own
soft, cool palms, and sung in a sweet low voice an old ballad which
told of the ancient greatness of the Saxon race. At a short distance
from them sat an elderly lady, clad in deep mourning, and her saddened
countenance corresponded well with her weeds.

The young man made an impatient movement, and said--"Sing not to me
England's former prowess, dear Edith. What to the dying can such
themes be but a bitter mockery? Take your guitar, my sister, and throw
your soul into its vibrating strings, while you sing me such a lay as
I can fancy the angels of Heaven to be pouring forth around the throne
of God."

"Shall I sing the chants of our church, dearest Edgar?" said Edith in
a subdued voice.

"Yes--yes--they breathe peace and resignation into my restless soul.
When I am dying, my sister, stifle your own feelings as you love me,
and pour into my failing senses those magnificent strains. If God sees
fit to tear me from you before I can legally provide for you and my
beloved mother, I shall be enabled to forget the bitter truth in
listening to your sweet voice. You promise me this, Edith?"

"I do--Heaven will sustain me even then, my darling brother