t does not
spoil you, though. You do not know how sweetly childish it makes you
look."

"I care not for the looks, Edith; it is not that. But it is so dreadful
to think of so many changes, and I unconscious of all. Such a long,
dreary blank! Where was my soul wandering? What fearful scenes may
hereafter dawn on my memory? Beauty! No, Edith; think not I weep for the
cloud that has passed over it. The only eyes in which I desired to
appear lovely, will never behold me more."

"You will not be the only sufferer, Gabriella," said Edith, mournfully.
"A dreadful blow has fallen upon us all; but for our mother's sake, if
not for a greater, we must endeavor to submit."

"Tell me, Edith, what I dare not ask of her, tell me where _he_ is gone,
and tell me the particulars of those first dark hours when my soul was
in such awful eclipse. I _must_ know; and when once told, I shall be
resigned, whatever be my fate."

Edith seated herself on the side of the bed, and leaned back so that I
could not look in her face. Then putting her arms round me, she drew me
towards her, and made me rest against her shoulder.

"If you grieve to listen, think how painful it is for me to relate,"
said she.

"I will," I answered; "I shall have strength to hear whatever you have
fortitude to tell."

"You must not ask a minute description of what will always be involved
in my remembrance in a horror of thick darkness. I know not how I got
home from Dr. Harlowe's, where the tidings reached me. My mother brought
you in the carriage, supported in her arms; and when I first saw you,
you were lying just where you are now, perfectly insensible. Richard was
carried to Dr. Harlowe's on a litter, and it was _then_ feared he might
not live."

Edith's voice faltered.

"It was after sunset. The saloon was dark, and all was gloom and
confusion in the household. Mamma and I were standing by your bed, with
our backs to the door, when we heard a hoarse, low voice behind us,
saying,--

"'Is she dead?'

"We turned, and beheld Ernest right in the door way, looking more like a
spectre than a human being.

"'No, no,' answered my mother; and almost running to meet him, she
seized him by the arm, drew him into the chamber, and closed the door.
He struggled to be released; but she seemed to have the strength of
numbers in her single grasp.

"'She is not dead,' said she, pointing to the bed, 'though she hears,
sees, knows nothing; but Richard will die, and you w