Then terror gave her courage, and she rushed madly forward a few
steps, then stood on the threshold horror-stricken.

Both those young souls, but a few days before so happy, so beloved,
and so loving, had taken their flight--whither?

Both lay there dead, as they had fallen, but unconvulsed, and graceful
even in death. Neither had groaned or struggled, but as they had
fallen, so they lay, a few feet asunder--her heart and his brain
pierced by the deadly bullets, sped with the accuracy of his
never-erring aim.

While she stood gazing, in the very stupor of dread, scarce conscious
yet of what had fallen out, a deep voice smote her ear.

"Base, base girl, this is all your doing!" Then, as if wakening from a
trance, she uttered a long, piercing shriek, darted into the pavilion
between the gory corpses, and flung herself headlong out of the open
window into the pool beneath.

But she was not fated so to die. A strong hand dragged her out--the
hand of St. George, who, learning that his friend had ridden forth
toward Ditton, had followed him, and arrived too late by scarce a
minute.

From that day forth Agnes Fitz-Henry was a dull, melancholy maniac.
Never one gleam of momentary light dispersed the shadows of her insane
horror--never one smile crossed her lip, one pleasant thought relieved
her life-long sorrow. Thus lived she; and when death at length came to
restore her spirit's light, she died, and made no sign.

Allan Fitz-Henry _lived_--a moody misanthropic man, shunning all men,
and shunned of all. In truth, the saddest and most wretched of the
sons of men.

How that catastrophe fell out none ever knew, and it were useless to
conjecture.

They were beautiful, they were young, they were happy. The evil days
arrived--and they were wretched, and lacked strength to bear their
wretchedness. They are gone where ONE alone must judge them--may HE
have pity on their weakness. REQUIESCANT!

THE LOST PLEIAD.

BY HENRY B. HIRST.

Beautiful sisters! tell me, do you ever
Dream of the loved and lost one, she who fell
And faded, in love's turbid, crimson river--
The sacred secret tell?
Calmly the purple heavens reposed around her,
And, chanting harmonies, she danced along;
Ere Eros in his silken meshes bound her,
Her being passed in song.

Once on a day she lay in dreamy slumber;
Beside her slept her golden-tongued lyre;
And radiant visions