is world," continued the doctor, "I
would say there is hope, but it is my duty to tell you that her hours,
her moments, are numbered, therefore your honour must play the man, and
go to her and bid her good-bye, for ere long she will be unable to
speak."

Karpathy allowed himself to be led into the dying woman's chamber. The
whole world was blurred before him, he saw nobody, he heard nothing; he
saw _her_ only lying there pale, faded, with the sweat of death upon her
glorious face, with the pallor of death around her dear lips, with the
refracted gleam of death in her beautiful inspired eyes.

There he stood, beside the bed, unable to speak a word. His eyes were
tearless. The room was full of serving-maids and nurses. Here and there
a stifled sob was to be heard. He neither saw nor heard anything. He
only gazed dumbly, stonily, at the dying woman. On each side of the bed
a familiar form was kneeling--Flora and Teresa.

The good old aunt, with clasped hands, was praying, her face concealed
among the pillows. Flora held the little boy in her arms; he was
sleeping with his head upon her bosom.

The sick woman raised her breaking eyes towards her husband, stretched
out her trembling, fevered hand, and, grasping the hand of her husband,
drew it towards her panting lips, and gasped, in a scarcely audible
voice, "Remember me!"

Squire John did not hear, he did not understand what she said to him, he
only held his wife's hand in both his own as if he believed that he
could thereby draw her away from Death.

After an hour's heavy struggle, the feverish delirium of the sick woman
began to subside, her blood circulated less fiercely, her hands were no
longer so burning hot, her breathing grew easier.

She began to look about her calmly and recognize every one. She spoke to
those about her in a quiet, gentle voice; the tormenting sweat had
vanished from her face.

"My husband, my dear husband!" she said, casting a look full of feeling
upon Squire John.

Her husband rejoiced within himself, thinking it a sign of amendment;
but the doctor shook his head, he knew it was a sign of death.

Next, the sick woman turned towards Flora. Her friend guessed the
meaning of her inquiring look, and held the little child nestling on her
bosom to the sick woman's lips. Fanny tenderly strained it to her
heaving breast, and kissed the face of the sleeping child, who at every
kiss opened its dark-blue eyes, and then drooped them and went on