was enacted. A death-bed
for a theater, weeping relatives an audience, and Father Mazzolin an
amateur performer. Aunt Lizzy was kneeling beside the Padre, ever
and anon invoking the Virgin; while Florence sat with her face in her
hands, almost as unconscious of what passed as her dying parent She
bent over him now, and in heartrending accents conjured him not to
leave her. He struggled in vain to utter words of comfort; they died
away in whispers, and, with a slight moan, the spirit returned to
the God that gave it. The Padre snatched his hat and hastily left
the house, while Mary gave vent to an uncontrollable burst of sorrow.
Florence seemed suddenly frozen, so rigid was her countenance, as she
gazed on the cold form before her. She neither wept nor moaned, but
closed the eyes with a long, long kiss, and drawing a sheet over the
marble features, turned, with a slow, unfaltering step, away.

CHAPTER XII.

"For now that Hope's last ray is gone,
Sure Lethe's dream would bless:
In grief to think of bliss tha'ts flown,
Adds pangs to wretchedness."

ANONYMOUS.

A fortnight had passed, and again it was evening. In the small
dining-room of Florence Hamilton's humble home assembled the now
diminished family circle. Florence sat sadly apart, leaning her head,
with closed eyes, against the window. The tea bell rang; she lifted
her head, glanced round the room, and wearily dropped her brow again
on its resting-place. Mary approached, and taking her hand, said, in a
gentle, winning tone, "Come, Florry dear."

"Eat your supper, Mary; I do not wish any."

"But you have not eaten anything to-day, and need something; do try,
for my sake."

"I cannot. If you knew how both head and heart ache, you would not
urge me."

Mary turned away, and ate the usually joyous meal with a heavy heart.
Florence had left her seat, and was standing in the door: as her
cousin rose from the table she beckoned to her, and passed hurriedly
out. Mary strove to catch her arm but she hastened on, as if trying
to escape from herself. Suddenly she paused by the river side, and
clasped her hands convulsively over her head.

"Mary! Mary! you know not what I suffer."

"Florry, sit down, and lean your weary head on my shoulder."

She dipped her hand in the water, and dashed the cold, sparkling drops
on her cousin's burning brow, speaking the while in a low, soothing
tone. Florence rested a few moments in her cousin's arms, then threw