rt of his hapless
child, who knelt beside his couch; her large dark eyes, distended
to even more than their usual size, fixed upon his face; her hands
clasped round one of his; but had she sought thus to give warmth she
would have failed, for the hand of the living was cold and damp as
that of the seeming dead.

A slight, almost imperceptible flush floated over that livid
cheek--the eyes unclosed, but so quickly closed again that it was more
like the convulsive quivering of the muscle than the effort of the
will; and Marie alone had marked the change.

"Father!" she almost shrieked in agony, "in mercy speak to me
again--say but you forgive--bless--"

"Forgive" feebly repeated the dying man; and the strong feeling of
the father, for a brief interval, conquered even death--"Forgive?--my
beautiful--my own!--the word is meaningless, applied to thee. Art thou
not my Ferdinand's bride, and hast thou not so taken the sting, the
trial even from this dread moment? My precious one!--would I could see
that face once more--but it is dark--all dark--kiss me, my child!"

She threw herself upon his bosom, and covered his cheek with kisses.
He passed his hand feebly over her face, as if the touch could once
more bring her features to his sight; and then extending his left
hand, feebly called--"Ferdinand!"

His nephew caught the withered hand, and kneeling down, pressed it
reverentially and fondly to his lips.

Henriquez's lips moved, but there came no word.

"Doubt me not, my more than father! From boyhood to youth, from youth
to manhood, I have doted on thy child. Shall I love and cherish her
less now, that she has only me? Oh, trust me!--if devotion can give
joy, she will know no grief, that man can avert, again!"

A strange but a beautiful light for a single minute dispersed the
fearful shadow creeping over Henriquez's features.

"My son! my son!--I bless thee--and thou, too, my drooping flower.
Julien! my brother--lay me beside my Miriam. Thou didst not come for
this--but it is well. My children--my friends--send up the hymn of
praise--the avowal of our faith; once more awake the voice of our
fathers!"

He was obeyed; a psalm arose, solemn and sweet, in accents familiar
as their mother tongue, to those who chanted; but had any other been
near, not a syllable would have been intelligible. But the voice which
in general led to such solemn service--so thrilling in its sweetness,
that the most indifferent could not listen