rules
my night."

After some time they went to Malta, and for nearly two years, Lady
Waring watched the alternations of her daughter's health with fond and
unceasing care. Almost a hope sometimes arose, but there soon again
came a relapse, and month by month she was plainly sinking, but very,
very slowly; the decay was so gradual, that her evidently approaching
end came on her wretched mother suddenly at last. She had been for
some time unable to leave her bed, or indeed even to move, and her
breathing became painful and difficult.

It was on a January morning that the doctor felt it necessary to tell
Lady Waring that the end of her hopes and fears was at hand, for the
patient could not last beyond that day. So she sat down by the bedside
in calm despair to watch the expiring lamp. About seven in the
evening, a sudden change seemed to come over the dying girl,--an
animation of countenance, and a look of re-awaking intelligence. She
motioned feebly with her hand that her bed might be moved close to the
window, and when there, looked out anxiously upon the strange sea and
sky. She appeared to be making some mental effort, and after a little
while, turned her eyes towards the watcher, and murmured one blessed
word of recognition,--"Mother."

Her setting sun, long hid by heavy mists, ere it sank below the
horizon, threw one level ray of pure unclouded light back over the
troubled sea of life. At the approach of death--out of the chaos of
her mind--the memories of the past rose up, and stood in a broad
picture before her sight; and from the ruins of her broken heart its
first and holiest affection ascended like an incense. "God will love
you, as you have loved me, mother;" she said. "Forgive him--I pray for
him--God will forgive him, and watch over you--good-bye--kiss me,
mother." As she lay wan, wasted, feeble, her voice was so faint and
low that it almost seemed to come from beyond the portals of the grave
itself, to pardon and to bless.

The widow bent over the death-bed, and--oh, how tenderly!--pressed the
cold lips of her lost darling. At that loved touch, the failing tide
of life flowed back for a moment and flushed the pale cheek with joy
unspeakable--then ebbed away for ever.

Now that we have left poor Kate where "the wicked cease from
troubling, and the weary are at rest," we must follow the dark course
of him for whom she died. His marriage had but a short time taken
place, when he resumed his former habits