tled permanently upon
her cheek. Her eyes, those glorious orbs, filled with unquenchable love,
grew supernaturally large and brilliant with the flames that fed upon
her vital forces. Amelie sickened and sank rapidly. The vulture of quick
consumption had fastened upon her young life.

Mere Esther and Mere Migeon shook their heads, for they were used to
broken hearts, and knew the infallible signs which denote an early death
in the young and beautiful. Prayers and masses were offered for the
recovery of Amelie, but all in vain. God wanted her. He alone knew how
to heal that broken heart. It was seen that she had not long to live. It
was known she wished to die.

Pierre heard the tidings with overwhelming grief. He had been permitted
but once to see her for a few brief moments, which dwelt upon his mind
forever. He deferred his departure to Europe in consequence of her
illness, and knocked daily at the door of the Convent to ask after her
and leave some kind message or flower, which was faithfully carried to
her by the friendly nuns who received him at the wicket. A feeling of
pity and sympathy for these two affianced and unfortunate lovers stole
into the hearts of the coldest nuns, while the novices and the romantic
convent girls were absolutely wild over the melancholy fate of Pierre
and Amelie.

He long solicited in vain for another interview with Amelie, but until
it was seen that she was approaching the end, it was not granted him.
Mere Esther interceded strongly with the Lady Superior, who was jealous
of the influence of Pierre with her young novice. At length Amelie's
prayers overcame her scruples. He was told one day that Amelie was
dying, and wished to see him for the last time in this world.

Amelie was carried in a chair to the bars to receive her sorrowing
lover. Her pale face retained its statuesque beauty of outline, but so
thin and wasted!

"Pierre will not know me;" whispered she to Heloise, "but I shall smile
at the joy of meeting him, and then he will recognize me."

Her flowing veil was thrown back from her face. She spoke little, but
her dark eyes were fixed with devouring eagerness upon the door by which
she knew Pierre would come in. Her aunt supported her head upon her
shoulder, while Heloise knelt at her knee and fanned her with sisterly
tenderness, whispering words of sisterly sympathy in her ear.

Pierre flew to the Convent at the hour appointed. He was at once
admitted, with a caution fro