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but almost before the words were spoken Mr. Seymour returned to them.

To his friend's unspeakable relief he had not succeeded in finding the paper.

"I remember taking it out of my wife's hand," he said, "and putting it, as I thought, upon the table; but it is certainly not hereperhaps it will be in her own room."

"Oh, it's of no consequence," replied Dr. Leslie, earnestly, though in some confusion (he was now as anxious to lull suspicion as he had before seemed to awaken it). "I hope you will excuse me for ap pearing for a moment unsatisfied with your first explanation. I am quite ready to admit that we should gain nothing by following the course I unadvisedly suggested."

Having uttered these words in a tone of marked respect, Dr. Leslie slowly crossed the room for the purpose of rejoining his assistant in the sick chamber.

Mr. Seymour followed, and detaining him for an instant on the threshold, asked wistfully,

"You do not apprehend any danger?"

"Why should you think so?" he answered, evasively. Ere the question could be repeated, he was gone!

CHAPTER LXVII.

ALONE WITH THE DEAD.

"We shape ourselves the joy or fear
Of which life to come is made;
We fill our future's atmosphere
With sunshine or with shade.
The tissue of the life to be

We weave with colours all our own;

And in the field of destiny

We reap as we have sown." J. G. WHITTIER.

"When pitiless misfortune's night

Frowns darkest o'er the head,

Where will we find a gleam of light

To dissipate the dread?"

CHARLES MOIR.

FOR a week Mrs. Seymour's case seemed to defy all human skill. Then a change took place in the aspect of her complaint; the most alarming symptoms subsided, and Dr. Leslie began to entertain hopes of her speedy and complete restoration to health.

Still, she made very little progress in regaining strength. Day succeeded to day, and night to night, and yet she continued as helpless as an infant, never evincing the slightest interest in anything which took place around her, or opening her lips to address her faithful attendant Willson, who, in spite of her age and increasing infirmities, had insisted on being permitted to undertake the labour and responsibility of nursing her beloved mistress.

At last came the crisis-startling and overwhelming to every inmate

of the mansion.

During one of Dr. Leslie's visits to the sick room, the door of the library (where Mr. Seymour now spent the greatest part of his time) was flung violently open, and Juliet came rushing up to him with wild affrighted looks, exclaiming in accents of terror and consternation,— "O sir, my mistress."

"What of your mistress, girl?" fiercely demanded the gentleman, striding towards the door.

"O sir, she is

"What?" he asked, roughly grasping her by the arm. "Speak!" "Dead!" gasped the terror-stricken girl, breaking from him, and bursting into a torrent of tears.

Mr. Seymour staggered giddily forward, and only saved himself from falling by leaning his whole weight against the door-post.

For several seconds he remained there, speechless, spell-bound, with a face of mortal paleness, and an expression of the keenest anguish affixed to every feature. The blood coursed coldly through his veins, and the pulsations of his heart seemed to have stopped. But suddenly a doubt crossed his brain, and, like a drowning man

catching at a straw, he eagerly embraced it, and was thereby enabled to proceed with moderately firm footsteps to his wife's apartment.

A melancholy spectacle awaited him in that sombrous chamber! Everything bore testimony to the truth of Juliet's report, from the group of weeping servants who were gathered around the doorway, to the grave and strangely perturbed expression of Dr. Leslie's face, as he hastened forward to prevent him, if possible, from coming farther than the threshold.

By an authoritative gesture, Mr. Seymour waved him back, and, stepping up to the bed, drew aside the curtain, and gazed upon the silent form it contained.

As he did so, his cheek blanched with horror, and all his former forebodings presented themselves before him in a darker and still more terrible array. Now he beheld not the mere threatening phantom, or the gloomy shadow of some impending evil, but the awful and hideous reality itself!

"Why was I not informed of this sooner?" he demanded, turning to the doctor after a long pause, and speaking in that tone of unnatural calmness which is indicative of the uttermost despair.

"There was no time," he answered, regarding him in genuine sadness and compassion; "it passed almost in a moment; a sudden spasm seemed to convulse the poor lady's frame, and before I could even ascertain its cause she had ceased to breathe."

A half-articulated groan was Mr. Seymour's only response. "I'little anticipated this," continued the doctor, mournfully fixing his eyes upon the white satin counterpane; " it is indeed a peculiarly distressing event; but it was one of those mysterious cases which no human foresight could possibly have averted. All that remains for me, therefore, is to express my profound sympathy; and assure you

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"That will do, sir," interrupted Mr. Seymour, a look of agony passing over his countenance; "it is impossible for you, or any one else, to enter into my feelings."

"True," answered the doctor, with a deprecating gesture; "stillHe left his sentence unfinished, on perceiving that the person for whose ears it was intended had already quitted the room. Slowly and totteringly he, Mr. Seymour, retraced his steps to the library; and having secured himself from intrusion by turning the key in the lock, he sank down upon the nearest chair, outwardly calm and rigid as the sculptured figures of his ancestors (which were ranged, about a yard from each other, in recesses built for their reception, between the tall ebony book-cases which lined the immense apartment), though a prey to the most poignant anguish and acute mental sufferings.

Hours wore away, but he was quite unconscious of their flight; and no thought of the many painful duties which required his immediate attention came to rouse his grief-distracted mind from the exclusive contemplation of what had so recently occurred.

The servants meanwhile were sorely perplexed how to act. Some of the most intimate friends of the family called to offer their services directly they heard of the distressing event. None of them were admitted, however, until the evening, when Sir George Hastings, whom the intelligence had only just reached, made his appearance at the Park.

"O sir, I am so glad you are come," said the old butler, drawing him into the darkened and deserted dining-room; " 'everything is in such confusion, and we are afraid to take any steps regarding the funeral until we have the master's authority for doing so.'

Here the old man leant upon the table, and, in spite of his efforts at self-command, was wholly unable to keep up even the semblance of composure.

Sir George was himself scarcely less affected, and for several minutes they were both silent from intensity of feeling.

Rousing himself at length, the baronet passed his handkerchief across his eyes, and asked, in a voice which trembled with emotion,— Has Mr. Seymour given no orders?"

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No, sir," replied the old man, in a hoarse whisper; "he has been shut up in his library ever since it happened."

"I wonder if he would see me," mused Sir George.

"I fear not, sir, for Browning has made several attempts in the course of the day to gain his attention by knocking at the library door, but without receiving any reply."

"Ah!" said Sir George, reflectively; adding, after a moment's consideration, "if you will bring me writing materials, I will see what can be done."

He was promptly obeyed; and the first use he made of them was to write a short note to Mr. Seymour, in which he delicately offered to relieve him from the task of ordering the funeral arrangements, etc.; and merely requested him to mention the names of such relations as he particularly wished to be invited on the melancholy occasion.

This note he entrusted to Browning, desiring him to embrace the earliest opportunity of delivering it to his master.

Accordingly the valet made another effort to attract Mr. Seymour's notice; but, failing as before, he proceeded, as a dernier ressort, to insert the letter underneath the door.

This experiment was successful; for Mr. Seymour's eyes being at that moment fixed upon the ground, he could not well avoid seeing it. With a slight contraction of his brow, he lifted it, and, just as he was impatiently throwing it aside, he recognised the handwriting, and, altering his purpose, opened it, and glanced over its contents. His lip quivered painfully as he did so, and for a short time it seemed as if he would faint, so terrible was his agitation.

But presently he rose, and, taking a sheet of paper from the table, hurriedly traced a few lines on it, folded it, pushed it outside the door, in the same manner in which Browning had conveyed the one from Sir George; and then, to ensure its being delivered at once, he rang the bell.

Browning instantly reappeared, and, perceiving the note lying on the floor, picked it up, and carried it to the dining-room.

On reading it, Sir George found that his kind offer was thankfully accepted; but, greatly to his surprise (knowing his friend's characteristic love of display), Mr. Seymour expressed a very decided wish to have everything arranged in the quietest manner. No expense was to be spared; but at the same time he requested that none of his relations should be invited to attend the funeral. He could not endure the thought of meeting them, he said, under such distressing circumstances, and hoped Sir George would not consider it necessary to expose him to any needless pain.

A memorandum of his wife's death was enclosed, which, at his own suggestion, Sir George copied and sent to be inserted in the Times and other newspapers.

The evening of the third day arrived; and nearly all the preparations for Mrs. Seymour's funeral were completed.

The coffin, with its gorgeous covering of crimson velvet and white satin lining, stood in the deceased lady's dressing-room, waiting for its occupant, whose name and age were engraved on a silver plate, which had been fastened on the centre of the lid, and neatly surrounded with two rows of small pearls.

The women servants had already assumed their mourning dresses, the guests (few in number) had received their invitations, the clergyman the usual instructions, the undertaker his orders.

Nothing, therefore, of any importance remained to be donenothing but the last sad consignment of "earth to earth, ashes to ashes."

One solitary watcher sat with clasped hands, and a pale, agonized face, in that mysterious chamber-an aged, bowed-down woman, whose tearless grief seemed almost more than her feeble frame was able to endure.

In vain the pitying servants had, time after time, implored her to take some rest. In vain her wearied body and exhausted mind warned her that nature could not long sustain the accumulated load of unrelieved anguish which every day weighed heavier and heavier upon her gentle spirit-it was all of no avail! She felt that when her beloved mistress expired, the spring of earthly hope had suddenly dried up within her own breast. She had no further object in lifenothing to care for no one to cling to, and cherish, and watch over, and pray for; and her only desire now was (amounting almost to an eager, passionate longing), that she, too, might be permitted to close her eyes upon this weary world, and sleep the sleep of death!

These were her thoughts, as she kept watch in the silent chamber, wherein reposed the moveless form of her once blooming and beautiful mistress.

To a timorous mind, the awful, grave-like stillness that reigned throughout the dwelling, after all the servants had retired to rest, would have been quite appalling; but Willson had no superstitious dread of remaining alone with the dead; and when Juliet (much against her personal inclination) offered to share her nightly vigils, she unhesitatingly rejected the proposal.

About half an hour elapsed, and then the pale watcher heard-as it were without perceiving the opening and shutting of a door, followed by stealthy footsteps ascending the stairs.

An instant's pause took place outside the room she was in, but presently the handle was noiselessly turned, and Mr. Seymour glided like a ghost into the middle of the floor.

He evidently expected to find no one there, and had purposely chosen this hour as being the one when he could without observation pay a last farewell visit to his wife's remains.

In his hand he carried a lamp, and having placed it upon a table which stood near the bed, he cast a hurried glance around the apartment.

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