kissed him many times, murmuring, "I have often
prayed to die thus, Pierre! close to you, my love, close to you; in your
arms and God's, where you could receive my last breath, and feel in the
last throb of my heart that it is wholly yours!"

"My poor Amelie," cried he, pressing her to his bosom, "you shall not
die! Courage, darling! It is but weakness and the air of the convent;
you shall not die."

"I am dying now, Pierre," said she, falling back upon her pillow. "I
feel I have but a short time to live. I welcome death, since I cannot be
yours. But, oh, the unutterable pang of leaving you, my dear love!"

Pierre could only reply by sobs and kisses. Amelie was silent for a few
moments, as if revolving some deep thought in her mind.

"There is one thing, Pierre, I have to beg of you," said she, faltering
as if doubting his consent to her prayer. "Can you, will you, accept
my life for Le Gardeur's? If I die for HIM, will you forgive my poor
blood-stained and deluded brother, and your own? Yes, Pierre," repeated
she, as she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it, "your brother, as
well as mine! Will you forgive him, Pierre?"

"Amelie! Amelie!" replied he with a voice broken with emotion, "can you
fancy other than that I would forgive him? I forgave Le Gardeur from the
first. In my heart I never accused him of my father's death. Alas, he
knew not what he did! He was but a sword in the hands of my father's
enemies. I forgave him then, darling, and I forgive him wholly now, for
your sake and his own."

"My noble Pierre!" replied she, putting out her arms towards him. "Why
might not God have suffered me to reward such divine goodness? Thanks,
my love! I now die content with all things but parting with you." She
held him fast by his hands, one of which she kept pressed to her lips.
They all looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak again, for
her eyes were wide open and fixed with a look of ineffable love upon the
face of Pierre, looking like life, after life was fled. She still held
him in her rigid clasp, but she moved not. Upon her pale lips a smile
seemed to hover. It was but the shadow left behind of her retreating
soul. Amelie de Repentigny was dead! The angel of death had kissed her
lovingly, and unnoticed of any she had passed with him away.

The watchful eye of the Lady de Tilly was the first to see that Amelie's
breath had gone so quietly that no one caught her latest sigh. The
physician and chapl