n her bosom.

When Paulett woke out of his deep sleep, and as soon as he stirred, the
little Alice came on tiptoe across the floor to him, and said, "Hush,
father! my mother is asleep at last."

"At last, my Alice! What! Could not she sleep?"

"I think she could not sleep. I woke up, and there was my mother; and
Charles woke presently, and she said Charles should go out and try to
bring back some cold stones in a cup, and then presently she sat down
again, and went to sleep."

He rose softly, and taking the little girl by the hand, came up to
Ellen's side, and looked upon her. She was lying at full length on the
floor; her head was toward him, but her face was turned upon the ground,
and her hair further hid it; her right arm was fallen forward, and the
back of that hand lay in the palm of the other. He did not hear nor see
her breathe. "Is it so, my Ellen?" he said. "Art thou at rest? Is there
no farewell for me?" He kneeled and stooped lower and lower. His lip did
not venture to feel hers; he longed that she might be free, yet shrank
from knowing that she was gone. But no; she had not ceased to suffer; a
low sigh came at last, and her parched mouth opened.

"Water!" she said; then lifted her eyes and saw Paulett, and remembered
all by degrees. "Is not there a little? Oh, no--none! Nay, I shall not
want it soon!" She turned her face on Paulett's breast, and soon after
tried to rise and push herself from him. "Leave me, dear husband; kiss
me once, and leave me; try to save _them_!"

But Paulett folded his arms round her. "Not so, my Ellen; the chances of
life are so little, that it is lawful for me to give them up, unless we
can all seek them together. Alas! all I can do is but to see thee die!
Oh, if I could give thee one minute's ease!"

"Alas! you must all die like this," said Ellen, who was perishing like
one of the flowers that had died in the drought for want of rain. Water
would have saved that life, spared those sufferings. That burning hand,
those gasping lips, those anxious eyes, revealed what the spirit passing
away in that torment would fain have concealed. "Alice, come near me;
hold my hand, Alice. Are you thirsty, poor child? Oh, do not grieve your
father! It will be but a short time, my little girl--be patient." Ellen
tried to kiss her; her husband kneeled and raised her head on his
shoulder, bending his face on her forehead, and murmuring the last
farewell--the last thanks--the agony of his pity f