nguish, that I can
feel, while I bitterly condemn him. How cold and distant this trouble
renders me! He speaks sometimes of his fears as she grows worse and
worse, but it is with mournful restraint, and when I lift my look to
his, or attempt those broken words of comfort that spring naturally to
the lips, he turns away without reply, as if my attempt at consolation
had only deepened his remorse. Was that wild confession on the raft all
a dream? Had terror and privation rendered me delirious? Could these
words, so deeply written in my memory, have been only a wild
hallucination? Is this man the same being I almost worshiped then?

"She is dead--oh, heavens! She died last night, with no one near but the
slave, and, as the girl Zillah said, without a struggle or a sigh.

"The slave came to my room just at daylight, weeping and wringing her
hands in such distress, that she fairly terrified me, when I saw her
standing in the open door.

"'Oh,' she said, tossing her arms on high, 'she is gone, she is gone.' I
watched her, young mistress, just like a mother hangs over her sick
child. She made a motion with her hand,--I thought she wanted more
drink, but she turned her face on the pillow, and looked at me so wild,
I couldn't turn my eyes away, but sat watching, watching, watching till
her face turned gray under my eyes, and I could see the white edges of
the teeth, between her lips, as they fell more and more apart. I reached
out my hand to touch hers. It was cold as snow, but her eyes were wide
open, looking straight into mine, dull and heavy, as if they had been
filling with frost.

"In the gray light of that morning, I went down to the death chamber.
General Harrington and James received me in mournful silence. I had no
heart even for unspoken reproaches, there. If ever forgiveness was
glorified, I saw it on that sweet, dear face.

"We passed a gloomy day. The shock has been terrible to James, terrible
to us all--for the General is greatly disturbed, and, as for the
slave-girl, her grief is fearful; she raves rather than weeps, and
trembles like an aspen at the mention of her dead lady's name.

"With the solemn burial services of the Catholic Church, we have
consigned the remains of this lovely woman to her grave, and now my
loneliness is complete. My own poor heart seems to have partaken of the
chill that has quenched her life. I am weary of this beautiful
land--weary of everything--alone and unloved; for now I am alm