e servant who had answered his summons.

Florence entered the little parlor where he had spent so many
never-to-be-forgotten hours with Edith--hours unspeakably happy in
passing, but, in remembrance, burdened with pain--and looking around
on each familiar object with strange emotions. Soon a light step was
heard descending the stairs, and moving along the passage. The door
opened, and Edith--no, her aunt--entered. The young man had risen in
the breathlessness of expectation.

"Mr. Florence," said the aunt, coldly. He extended his hand; but she
did not take it.

"How is Edith?" was half stammered.

"She is sinking rapidly," replied the aunt.

Edwin staggered back into a chair.

"Is she ill?" he inquired, with a quivering lip.

"Ill! She is dying!" There was something of indignation in the way
this was said.

"Dying!" The young man clasped his hands together with a gesture of
despair.

"How long has she been sick?" he next ventured to ask.

"For months she has been dying daily," said the aunt. There was a
meaning in her tones that the young man fully comprehended. He had
not dreamed of this.

"Can I see her?"

The aunt shook her head, as she answered,

"Let her spirit depart in peace."

"I will not disturb, but calm her spirit," said the young man,
earnestly. "Oh, let me see her, that I may call her back to life!"

"It is too late," replied the aunt. "The oil is exhausted, and light
is just departing."

Edwin started to his feet, exclaiming passionately--"Let me see her!
Let me see her!"

"To see her thus, would be to blow the breath that would extinguish
the flickering light," said the aunt. "Go home, young man! It is too
late! Do not seek to agitate the waters long troubled by your hand,
but now subsiding into calmness. Let her spirit depart in peace."

Florence sunk again into his chair, and, hiding his face with his
hands, sat for some moments in a state of a mental paralysis.

In the chamber above lay the pale, almost pulseless form of Edith. A
young girl, who had been as her sister for many years, sat holding
her thin white hand. The face of the invalid was turned to the wall.
Her eyes were closed; and she breathed so quietly that the motions
of respiration could hardly be seen. Nearly ten minutes had elapsed
from the time a servant whispered to the aunt that there was some
one in the parlor, when Edith turned, and said to her companion, in
a low, calm voice--

"Mr. Florence has come."