God,
he will be better in the morning when you come back." So Clive's duty
called him to his own sad home; and, the bearer of dismal tidings, I
returned to mine. The fires were lit there and the table spread; and
kind hearts were waiting to welcome the friend who never more was to
enter my door.

It may be imagined that the intelligence which I brought alarmed and
afflicted my wife and Madame de Florac, our guest. Laura immediately
went away to Rosa's house to offer her services if needed. The accounts
which she brought thence were very bad: Clive came to her for a minute
or two, but Mr. Mackenzie could not see her. Should she not bring the
little boy home to her children? Laura asked; and Clive thankfully
accepted that offer. The little man slept in our nursery that night, and
was at play with our young ones on the morrow--happy and unconscious of
the fate impending over his home.

* * * * * *

Yet two more days passed, and I had to take two advertisements to The
Times newspaper on the part of poor Clive. Among the announcements of
Births was printed, "On the 28th, in Howland Street, Mrs. Clive Newcome
of a son, still-born." And a little lower, in the third division of the
same column, appeared the words, "On the 29th, in Howland Street, aged
26, Rosa, wife of Clive Newcome, Esq." So, one day, shall the names
of all of us be written there; to be deplored by how many?--to be
remembered how long?--to occasion what tears, praises, sympathy,
censure?--yet for a day or two, while the busy world has time to
recollect us who have passed beyond it. So this poor little flower had
bloomed for its little day, and pined, and withered, and perished. There
was only one friend by Clive's side following the humble procession
which laid poor Rosa and her child out of sight of a world that had been
but unkind to her. Not many tears were there to water her lonely little
grave. A grief that was akin to shame and remorse humbled him as he
knelt over her. Poor little harmless lady! no more childish triumphs and
vanities, no more hidden griefs are you to enjoy or suffer; and earth
closes over your simple pleasures and tears! The snow was falling and
whitening the coffin as they lowered it into the ground. It was at
the same cemetery in which Lady Kew was buried. I dare say the same
clergyman read the same service over the two graves, as he will read it
for you or any of us to-morrow, and until his own turn co