roll back your chair when he brings your tea."

Mr. Illford muttered something in reply, but what it was Lady Ida could not discern, so she returned to the drawing-room, and dispatched the footman with the beverage.

Johnson placed the salver on the table without speaking, as Mr. Illford was breathing loudly, as if wrapped in slumber. Once, while waiting in the lobby, he thought he heard a groan, and he peeped into the diningroom, but all was quiet, and the tea was still untasted.

That evening, after Geraldine had retired, the brother and sister lingered long by the fire, talking of old times, and of the happiness of their young days.

"Mr. Illford has been gone long ago,

I

should think," remarked Lady Ida, as Lord

Derrington bade her good-night in the hall; "but I will just look into the dining

The apartment seemed dark and gloomy as she entered. The lamp had expired, the fire had quite burned out; but to her surprise and alarm Mr. Illford still reclined, where she had left him three or four hours before. She approached him hurriedly. One glance was sufficient. The glassy protuberance of his eyes, his fallen mouth, the purplish pallor of his visage, his hands, clenched as if by agony, revealed the truth at once. She was horror-struck. She unfastened with trembling hands his stock, felt his pulse, knelt down beside him, and listened for the beating of his heart. No signs of life could be discovered, nor had she dared to hope that there could be.

She then hastened out of the room, and in doing so extinguished her candle: the hall-lamp, from having been neglected, was out; she was in utter darkness. After calling unavailingly to the servants, she groped her way back to the drawing-room and succeeded in relighting her candle from the dying embers of the fire. She then ran to the servants' hall. Presuming on their lady's indulgence, all had gone to rest, except two- Johnson and Mr. Illford's valet; and they had fallen fast asleep, as they sat comfortably close to the fire. Much were they amazed and terrified, when they heard Lady Ida's agitated voice, and saw her pale, distressed, agonized countenance. They mumbled forth some indistinct excuses, as they tumbled out of their chairs. One was dispatched to the nearest medical man,

the other sent to Illford House for Sir Frederick; and then Lady Ida flew to call her brother, who was by her side in a moment, as he was reading, according to his usual practice, before preparing for repose.

The other servants quickly caught the alarm, and came trooping down, with many whispered ejaculations of horror and wonder.

Geraldine alone, of all the inhabitants of

Deanbar, heard nothing, was wholly unconscious of the presence of death in a chamber within a few yards of her own. The heavy, muffled tread of those who went to and fro through the gallery, who haunted that solemn apartment, grim attendants on the King of Tombs, disturbed her not, for a sweet, calm. slumber, too peaceful for even dreams to intrude upon, had lulled her spirit to perfect rest. And the sun was high when she

awakened, greatly refreshed, and in better spirits than she had experienced since her afflictive estrangement from Mr. Assulton.

She had scarcely completed her toilet, when a very soft tap was heard at the door, and Lady Ida's maid entered with a sanctimoniously doleful expression of face.

"My lady thought you might not have been apprised, Ma'am-the dreadfullest thing happened last night-" here the attendant flourished ostentatiously a fine cambric handkerchief.

"What was it?-Tell me immediately?" cried Geraldine, impatiently, her cheek alternately flushing and growing deadly pale.

"Certainly, Ma'am. Poor Mr. Illford, Ma'am, died last night quite sudden—nobody even by, at the time! and my lady has been walking about ever since like one distracted;