She looked up in his face, as if to explain the meaning
of the action, but voice and strength utterly failed, and Ellen's hand
dropped from her grasp.

"Kiss me, Herbert, I would sleep," she said, so faintly, Herbert alone
heard it. Their lips met in one long lingering kiss, and then Mary
drooped her head again upon his bosom, and seemed to sleep so gently, so
sweetly, her friends held their breath lest they should disturb her.
Nearly half an hour passed and still there was no movement. The full
soft light of an unclouded moon fell within that silent chamber, and
gilded the forms of Mary and Herbert with a silvery halo, that seemed to
fall from heaven itself upon them. Mary's head had fallen slightly
forward, and her long luxuriant hair, escaped from its confinement,
concealed her features as a veil of shadowy gold. Gently and tenderly
Herbert raised her head, so as to rest upon his arm; as he did so her
hair fell back and fully exposed her countenance. A faint cry broke from
his parched lips, and Ellen started in agony to her feet.

"Hush, hush, my Mary sleeps," Mrs. Greville said; but Mr. Hamilton
gently drew her from the couch and from the room. Her eyes were closed;
a smile illumined that sweet face, as in sleep it had so often done, and
that soft and shadowy light took from her features all the harsher tale
of death. Yes, she did sleep sweetly and calmly, but her pure spirit had
departed.

CHAPTER VIII.

It was long, very long ere Mr. Hamilton's family recovered the shock of
Mary's death. She had been so long loved, living amongst them from her
birth, her virtues and gentleness were so well known and appreciated by
every member. She had been by Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton so long considered
as their child, by her betrothment with their Herbert, that they
sorrowed for her as if indeed she had been bound to them by that tender
tie; and her poor mother now indeed felt desolate: her only treasure,
her precious, almost idolized Mary, was taken from her, and she was
childless, for of Alfred she had long ceased to receive intelligence.
She bowed her head, earnestly striving for submission, but it was long,
long ere peace returned; soothed she was indeed by the tender kindness
of her friends; but what on earth can soothe a bereaved and doting
mother? Emmeline, Ellen, Herbert, even Arthur Myrvin, treated her with
all the love and reverence of children, but neither could fill the
aching void within. On Herbert indeed h