up. There
the mattock had never been struck; but in fancy I saw the small Heaves
falling and drifting about a new and smooth-shaped mound--and,
choking with the turbulent outcry in my heart, I glided stealthily
homeward--alas! to find the boding shape I had seen through mists and,
shadows awfully palpable. I did not ask about Rosalie. I was afraid; but
with my rural gleanings in my lap, opened the door of her chamber. The
physician had preceded me but a moment, and, standing by the bedside,
was turning toward the lessening light the little wasted hand, the
one on which I had noticed in the morning a small purple spot.
"Mortification!" he said, abruptly, and moved away, as though his work
were done.

There was a groan expressive of the sudden and terrible consciousness
which had in it the agony of agonies--the giving up of all. The gift
I had brought fell from my relaxed grasp, and, hiding my face in the
pillow, I gave way to the passionate sorrow of an undisciplined nature.

When at last I looked up, there was a smile on her lips that no faintest
moan ever displaced again.

A good man and a skilful physician was Dr. H----, but his infirmity was
a love of strong drink; and, therefore, was it that he softened not the
terrible blow which must soon have fallen. I link with his memory no
reproaches now, for all this is away down in the past; and that foe that
sooner or later biteth like a serpent, soon did his work; but then my
breaking heart judged him, hardly. Often yet, for in all that is saddest
memory is faithfulest, I wake suddenly out of sleep, and live over that
first and bitterest sorrow of my life; and there is no house of gladness
in the world that with a whisper will not echo the moan of lips pale
with the kisses of death.

Sometimes, when life is gayest about me, an unseen hand leads me apart,
and opening the door of that still chambers I go in--the yellow leaves
are at my feet again, and that white band between me and the light.

I see the blue flames quivering and curling close and the smouldering
embers on the hearth. I hear soft footsteps and sobbing voices and see
the clasped hands and placid smile of her who, alone among us all, was
untroubled; and over the darkness and the pain I hear voice, saying,
"She is not dead, but sleepeth." Would, dear reader, that you might
remember, and I too all ways, the importance of soft and careful words.
One harsh or even thoughtlessly chosen epithet, may bear with it