his heart, and kissed the pale lips; her fingers
clasped his hand gently, and she whispered, "Good-by!"

"Good-by, my darling Mary!--my own angel one, good-by!"

Again he pressed his lips to hers, and then rested her head more
easily upon his arm. The eyes closed, and those who stood watching her
low, irregular breathing, fancied she slept again.

One arm was around her, while the other supported the drooping head.
Her beautiful brown hair fell over his arm, and left exposed the
colorless face. She was wasted, yet beautiful in its perfect peace
and joy was the expression which rested on her features. Dr. Bryant,
leaning his noble brow on hers, felt her spirit pass away in the last
sigh which escaped her lips. Yet he did not lift his head. Cold as
marble grew the white fingers which lingered in his, still he clasped
her tightly. He sat with closed eyes, communing with his own saddened
heart; he was stilling the agony which welled up, and casting forth
the bitterness which mingled darkly with his grief, and he said unto
his tortured soul: "Be still! my treasure is laid up in heaven."

He lifted the hair from his arm, and gently drew his hand from hers;
yet, save for the icy coldness of her brow, none would have known
that the soul which lent such gentle loveliness to the countenance had
flown home to God.

Dr. Bryant pressed a last kiss on the closed eyes and marble brow,
softly laid her on her pillow, and left the room.

CHAPTER XXIX.

"All things are dark to sorrow," and the very repose and beauty of
nature seem to the aching heart a mockery. No violent bursts of grief
had followed Mary's death, for so peaceful and painless was her end,
it was scarce allowable. Yet now that she had been consigned to the
quiet grave, a dreary sense of loneliness and desolation crept to
the hearts of the saddened group. They stood assembled at the door
of their new home, to bid adieu to Dr. Bryant. In vain had been his
sister's tears and entreaties, and Mr. Carlton's expostulations.
Florence had clasped his hand, and asked in trembling accents, why he
left them in their sorrow, and Mr. Stewart implored him not to seek
death on the battlefield.

Firm in his purpose, naught availed. He stood upon the step ready
to depart; his noble face was very pale, and grief had touched with
saddening finger every lineament. Yet his tone and mien were calm as
usual.

"My dear sister," said he, "in times like these a man should first
r