m to return to his true wife,
And no more cross my path; should he remain,
He shall but wait to meet her, for my words
Already have been sent that he is here.

X.

I know that I shall fall sick dangerously,
And in some way by dark Gianni's hand.
I seem to lie asleep upon my bed,
And Grace is near, and watching my calm face.
The village doctor makes his morning call,
And takes my listless hand to feel the pulse.
There is no pulse! His hand goes to the heart.
My heart has ceased to beat, and all is still.
The hand the doctor held drops down like lead.
A looking-glass receives no fading mist,
Laid on the icy and immovable lips.
My eyes are fixed; I glare upon them all.
Grace twines her widowed arms about my neck,
Kissing my sallow cheeks, with hopeless tears,
Calling my name, and begging me come back;
So, thinking me dead, they close my staring eyes,
And put the face-cloth over my white face,
And go with silent tread about the room.
They do not know that I am in a trance.
I hear each whisper uttered, and the sighs
That heave the desolate bosom of my Grace.

XI.

All is so dark since they have shut my eyes;
I think it cruel in them to do that--
Shut out the light of day and every chance
That I could ever have of seeing Grace.
I cannot move a muscle, and I try,
And strive to part my lips to say some word;
But all in vain; the mind has lost control
Over the body's null machinery.

I wonder if they yet will bury me,
Thinking me dead? To wake up in the grave,
And hear a wagon rumbling overhead,
Or a chance footstep passing near the spot,
And then cry out and never get reply;
But hear the footstep vanish far away,
And know the cold mould smothers up all cries,
And is above, beneath, and round me,
Is bitter thought. To lie back then and die,
Suffocating slowly while I tear my hair,
Makes me most wild to think of.

XII.

Hark! 'tis night.
The hour is borne distinctly by the wind.
My Grace sits near me; now comes to my side,
And unto Him, whose ear is everywhere,
She, kneeling down, puts up her hands, and prays.

"O Father of all mercies, still be merciful,
And raise me from the gulf of this despair.
I cannot think nor feel my love is dead.
If he yet lives, and lingers in a trance,
Give me some sign that I may know the truth."

I slowly raise my hand, and let it fall.

Grace springs up all delight, and draws the clo