, but the chemist gave me the address of one, so I
ran back to tell the poor young thing that I'd go fetch one as quick as
I could, and I found him just dying in her arms."

"In whose arms? are not you the daughter--" said Emma.

"Me, miss! oh dear, no. I'm only a neighbour."

"Has she any friends?" asked Lewis.

"None as I knows of. They are strangers here--only just came to the
room. There it is," she added, stepping back and pointing to an inner
door.

Lewis advanced and knocked, but received no answer. He knocked again.
Still no answer. He therefore ventured to lift the latch and enter.

It was a miserable, ill-lighted room, of small size and destitute of all
furniture save a truckle bed, a heap of clean straw in a corner, on
which lay a black shawl, a deal chair, and a small table. Abject
poverty was stamped on the whole place. On the bed lay the dead man,
covered with a sheet. Beside it kneeled, or rather lay, the figure of a
woman. Her dress was a soiled and rusty black. Her hair, fallen from
its fastenings, hung dishevelled on her shoulders. Her arms clasped the
dead form.

"My poor woman," whispered Emma, as she knelt beside her, and put a hand
timidly on her shoulder.

But the woman made no answer.

"She has fainted, I think," exclaimed Emma, rising quickly and trying to
raise the woman's head. Suddenly Lewis uttered a great cry, lifted the
woman in his arms, and gazed wildly into her face.

"Nita!" he cried, passionately clasping her to his heart and covering
the poor faded face with kisses; but Nita heard not. It seemed as if
the silver chord had already snapped. Becoming suddenly aware of the
impropriety as well as selfishness of his behaviour, Lewis hastily bore
the inanimate form to the heap of straw, pillowed the small head on the
old shawl, and began to chafe the hands while Emma aided him to restore
consciousness. They were soon successful. Nita heaved a sigh.

"Now, Emma," said Lewis, rising, "this is _your_ place just now, I will
go and fetch something to revive her."

He stopped for one moment at the bed in passing, and lifted the sheet.
There was no mistaking the handsome face of the Count even in death. It
was terribly thin, but the lines of sorrow and anxiety were gone at last
from the marble brow, and a look of rest pervaded the whole countenance.

On returning, Lewis found that Nita had thrown her arms round Emma's
neck and was sobbing violently. She looked up a