e lips fell apart, white and ghastly, and the noble
form fell down at her feet, a stiffened corse. She shrieked aloud in
her agony, and awoke. The moon had risen, and was throwing a broad and
brilliant stream of light into the apartment, and the busy breeze,
fresh from the fragrant sea, whispered its musical noises through the
waving curtains of her couch.

* * * * *

At length the white blaze of the moon went out, and the misty morn
looked dim and sad over the sleeping city. Throwing a cloak about her,
Clara hurried down the stairs, and, opening the door softly, found
herself in the street, at an hour she had never before been there.
What a strange and dreary aspect every thing seemed to wear! The
windows of the houses, as she passed, were all closed, and no one
could be seen but dozens of loitering negroes returning from market,
or here and there some industrious landlady with a small basket of
vegetables on her arm, and closely veiled, hurrying along as if to
escape observation, followed by a servant with the day's provisions in
a large basket, which she carried steadily upon her head. Every one
who met her turned and stared curiously; and as she hurried over the
long crossing of Canal street, and threaded her way between the hacks
that had already taken their station, she felt that rude eyes, and
ruder sneers were upon her. She paused not for an instant, however,
but redoubled her speed until she reached the private entrance to the
St. Charles, where, leaning for a moment against a column, she
beckoned a woman from the saloon of the baths into the vestibule, and,
putting a piece of money into her hand, whispered, "Find out the
chamber of Mr. Medwin. He is very sick, and a dear friend of mine--I
must see him immediately."

The woman disappeared up the stairs leading to the "office" of the
hotel, and, returning in a moment, made a sign for Clara to follow.

As they approached, a noise and bustle were apparent at the further
end of the corridor, and several servants were hurrying in and out, as
if some sudden accident had occurred. Clara's guide pointed out
Medwin's room, and she rushed in--feeling certain in her heart that
her lover was dying.

He lay stiff and stark upon the sofa, with a few white froth bubbles
gathered upon his lips, and a letter clasped tightly in his hand. It
seemed that he was not yet dead, for a physician, who had been hastily
summoned, was attempting to force open his mout