ing she
would have moved aside, but a hand seized her arm.

"What is the matter? How is my brother?"

"Oh, Mrs. Lindsay!"

"Something must have happened. I had such a presentiment of trouble
at home that I could not wait till to-morrow. I came on the night
express. Why is the house all lighted up? Is Peyton ill?"

Trembling from head to foot, she waited an instant, but Regina only
crouched and groaned, and Mrs. Lindsay sprang up the steps. As she
reached the door, the light in the library revealed the shrouded
table,--the rigid figure resting thereon,--and a piercing wail broke
the silence of death.

"Merciful God!--not my Peyton?"

Thrusting her fingers into her ears, Regina fled down the walk out of
the yard, anywhere to escape the sound and sight of that
broken-hearted woman, whose cry was indeed _de profundis_.

"Console if you will, I can bear it; 'Tis a well-meant alms of
breath; But not all the preaching since Adam Has made Death other
than Death."

CHAPTER XII.

A dreary sunless December day had drawn to a close, prematurely
darkened by a slow drizzling rain, that brought the gloom of early
night, where sunset splendours should have lingered, and deepened the
sombre desolation that mantled the parsonage. In anticipation of the
arrival of the new minister, who was expected the ensuing week, the
furniture had been removed and sold, the books carefully packed and
temporarily stored at the warehouse of a friend, and even the trunks
containing the wearing apparel of the occupants had been despatched
to the railway depot, and checked for transmission by the night
express.

The melancholy preparations for departure were completed, friends had
paid their final visits, and only Esau the sexton waited with his
lantern, to lock up the deserted house, and take charge of the keys.

The last mournful tribute had been offered at the grave in the
churchyard, where the beloved pastor slept serenely; and the cold
leaden rain fell upon a mass of beautiful flowers, which quite
covered the mound, that marked his dreamless couch.

Since that farewell visit to her brother's tomb, Mrs. Lindsay seemed
to have lost her wonted fortitude and composure, and was pacing the
empty library, weeping bitterly, giving vent to the long-pent anguish
which daily duties and business details had compelled her to
restrain.

Impotent to comfort, Regina stood by the mantlepiece, gazing vacantly
at the wood fire on the hearth, wh