et me thus!

I had telegraphed to them from Liverpool, telling them the time when I
might hope to be in London; and, there they were to the minute, although
I had never expected them, having only informed them of my coming, in
order that they might let my darling know that I was on my way to her.

I jumped out of the carriage before it stopped, in defiance of all the
company's bye-laws; and, advanced to clasp their outstretched hands.
But--

What was it, that I could read in the grave kind face of the one, the
glad yet sorrowful eyes of the other, before a word had passed on either
side? What was it, that congealed the flood of joyful questionings,
with which I went forward to meet them, in an icy lump pressing down
upon my brain; and, that snapped a chord in my heart that has never
vibrated since?

Min was dead!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"DEATH."

O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done,
The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun--
For ever and for ever with those just souls and true--
And what is life, that we should moan? Why make we such ado?

What! Min dead--my darling whom I had hurried home to see once more,
the whisper of whose calling I had heard across the expanse of vast
Atlantic in eager entreaty; and whose tender, clinging affection I had
looked forward to, as the earnest of all my toils and struggles, my
longing hopes, my halting doubts, my groans, my tears!

It could not be.

I would not believe it. God could not be so cruel as man; and what man
would do such a heartless deed?

It was false. Could I not hear her merry, rippling laughter, as she
came forth heart-joyous to greet me; see the dear, soul-lit, grey eyes
beaming with happiness and love; feel her perfumed violet breath as she
raised her darling little rosebud of a mouth to mine--as I had fancied,
and pictured it all, over and over again, a thousand times and more?

Hark! was not that her glad voice speaking now in silvery accents--"O,
Frank!" nothing more; but, a world of welcome in the simple syllables?

Dead!

How could she be dead, when I was waiting to hear from her truth-
telling, loving lips what she had written to tell me already--that she
trusted me again, as she had trusted me in those old, old days that had
passed by never to return; and, loved me still in spite of all?

Dead! It was a lie. They wanted to deceive me. They were joking with
me!

Min, my darling, dead?