RMER IS AWAKENED TO THE
APPROACH OF DEATH.

THE next day, Gertrude and her companions went along the banks of the
haunted Neckar. She had passed a sleepless and painful night, and her
evanescent and childlike spirits had sobered down into a melancholy and
thoughtful mood. She leaned back in an open carriage with Trevylyan,
ever constant, by her side, while Du-----e and Vane rode slowly in
advance. Trevylyan tried in vain to cheer her; even his attempts
(usually so eagerly received) to charm her duller moments by tale or
legend were, in this instance, fruitless. She shook her head gently,
pressed his hand, and said, "No, dear Trevylyan, no; even your art fails
to-day, but your kindness never!" and pressing his hand to her lips, she
burst passionately into tears.

Alarmed and anxious, he clasped her to his breast, and strove to lift
her face, as it drooped on its resting-place, and kiss away its tears.
"Oh," said she, at length, "do not despise my weakness; I am overcome
by my own thoughts: I look upon the world, and see that it is fair and
good; I look upon you, and I see all that I can venerate and adore. Life
seems to me so sweet, and the earth so lovely; can you wonder, then,
that I should shrink at the thought of death? Nay, interrupt me not,
dear Albert; the thought must be borne and braved. I have not cherished,
I have not yielded to it through my long-increasing illness; but there
have been times when it has forced itself upon me, and now, _now_ more
palpably than ever. Do not think me weak and childish. I never feared
death till I knew you; but to see you no more,--never again to touch
this dear hand, never to thank you for your love, never to be sensible
of your care,--to lie down and sleep, _and never, never, once more to
dream of you_! Ah, that is a bitter thought! but I will brave it,--yes,
brave it as one worthy of your regard."

Trevylyan, choked by his emotions, covered his own face with his hands,
and, leaning back in the carriage, vainly struggled with his sobs.

"Perhaps," she said, yet ever and anon clinging to the hope that had
utterly abandoned _him_, "perhaps, I may yet deceive myself; and my love
for you, which seems to me as if it could conquer death, may bear me up
against this fell disease. The hope to live with you, to watch you, to
share your high dreams, and oh! above all, to soothe you in sorrow and
sickness, as you have soothed me--has not that hope something that may
support even this