hing, save as it influenced him. Every cloud that moved above, each
breeze that rustled, I thought of for him; and when I slept, his image
was still before me, and his voice seemed to call me oftentimes in the
silence of the night, and when I awoke and saw him sleeping, I knew not
which was the reality.

His debility increased rapidly; and although the mild air of summer and
the shelter of the deep valley seemed to have relieved his cough, his
weakness grew daily more and more. His character, too, seemed to have
undergone a change as great and as striking as that in his health. The
high and chivalrous ambition, the soldierlike heroism, the ardent spirit
of patriotism that at first marked him, had given way to a low and
tender melancholy,--an almost womanish tenderness,--that made him
love to have the little children of the cabin near him, to hear their
innocent prattle and watch their infant gambols. He talked, too, of
home; of the old chateau in Provence, where he was born, and described
to me its antiquated terraces and quaint, old-fashioned alleys, where as
a boy he wandered with his sister.

"Pauvre Marie!" said he, as a deep blush covered his pale cheek, "how
have I deserted you!" The thought seemed full of anguish for him, and
for the remainder of the day he scarcely spoke.

Some days after his first mention of his sister, we were sitting
together in front of the cabin, enjoying the shade of a large
chestnut-tree, which already had put forth its early leaves, and
tempered if it did not exclude the rays of the sun.

"You heard me speak of my sister," said he, in a low and broken voice.
"She is all that I have on earth near to me. We were brought up together
as children; learned the same plays, had the same masters, spent not one
hour in the long day asunder, and at night we pressed each other's hands
as we sunk to sleep. She was to me all that I ever dreamed of girlish
loveliness, of woman's happiest nature; and I was her ideal of boyish
daring, of youthful boldness, and manly enterprise. We loved each
other,--like those who felt they had no need of other affection, save
such as sprang from our cradles, and tracked us on through life. Hers
was a heart that seemed made for all that human nature can taste of
happiness; her eye, her lip, her blooming cheek knew no other expression
than a smile; her very step was buoyancy; her laugh rang through your
heart as joy-bells fill the air; and yet,--and yet! I brought that