hould be
sent for by his brother.

This last necessary act had been completed when Robinson, who was
standing by the side of the bed, with the letter in his hand, informed
him that the family at the Hall had returned from the Continent on the
evening before, with their only son, who was now restored to health.
This intelligence induced Forster to alter his plans; and trusting to
the former friendship of Lord Aveleyn, he despatched Robinson to the
Hall, stating his own condition, and requesting that his lordship would
come to the cottage. Lord Aveleyn immediately obeyed the summons, and
perceiving at the first glance that Forster's situation debarred all
chance of recovery, took upon himself with willingness the charge of the
letter, and promised to receive Amber into his house until it was
convenient that she should be removed. It was dark when Lord Aveleyn,
with melancholy foreboding, took his last farewell; for, ere the sun had
risen again, the spirit of Edward Forster had regained its liberty, and
soared to the empyrean, while the deserted Amber wept and prayed.

Edward Forster had not concealed from her the precarious tenure of his
existence, and since their return from London had made her fully
acquainted with all the particulars connected with her own history. The
last few weeks, every interval of suffering had been devoted by him to
enforce those principles which he ever had inculcated, and to prepare
for the event which had now taken place.

Amber was kneeling by the side of the bed; she had been there so long,
that she was not aware that it was broad day. Her face laid upon her
hands, was completely hid by her luxuriant hair, which had escaped from
the confinement of the comb, when the door of the chamber of death was
softly opened. Amber, who either did not hear the noise, or thought it
was the daughter of Robinson, who lived as servant in the cottage,
raised not her head. The steps continued to approach, then the sound
ceased, and Amber felt the arms of some one encircling her waist to
raise her from her kneeling posture. She lifted up her head, and
dividing the hair from her forehead, that she might see who it was,
perceived that it was young Aveleyn who was hanging over her.

"My poor little girl!" said he in a tone of commiseration.

"Oh! William Aveleyn," cried Amber, bursting into a paroxysm of tears,
as she was folded in his arms.

The sorrow of youth is sympathetic, and William Aveleyn, a