sunshine that streamed through the lattice. The past,
present, and future of her whole life started up before her in terrible
distinctness, and seemed concentrated in one present spot of mental
anguish.

Amelie came of a heroic race, stern to endure pain as to inflict it,
capable of unshrinking fortitude and of desperate resolves. A few
moments of terrible contemplation decided her forever, changed the whole
current of her life, and overthrew as with an earthquake the gorgeous
palace of her maiden hopes and long-cherished anticipations of love and
happiness as the wife of Pierre Philibert.

She saw it all; there was no room for hope, no chance of averting the
fatal doom that had fallen upon her. Her life, as she had long pictured
it to her imagination, was done and ended. Her projected marriage with
Pierre Philibert? It was like sudden death! In one moment the hand of
God had transported her from the living to the dead world of woman's
love. A terrible crime had been perpetrated, and she, innocent as she
was, must bear the burden of punishment. She had but one object now
to live for: to put on sackcloth and ashes, and wear her knees out in
prayer before God, imploring forgiveness and mercy upon her unhappy
brother, and expiate the righteous blood of the just man who had been
slain by him.

She rose hastily and stood up. Her face was beautiful as the face of a
marble Niobe, but as pale and as full of anguish.

"My loving bridesmaids," said she, "it is now all over with poor Amelie
de Repentigny; tell Pierre," and here she sobbed, almost choking in
her grief, "tell Pierre not to hate me for this blood that lies on
the threshold of our house! Tell him how truly and faithfully I was
preparing to devote myself to his happiness as his bride and wife; tell
him how I loved him, and I only forsake him because it is the inexorable
decree of my sad fate; not my will, but my cruel misfortune. But I
know his noble nature; he will pity, not hate me. Tell him it will even
rejoice me where I am going to know that Pierre Philibert still loves
me. I cannot, dare not ask him to pardon Le Gardeur! I dare not pardon
him myself! But I know Pierre will be just and merciful to my poor
brother, even in this hour of doom."

"And now," continued she, speaking with a terrible energy, "put away
these bridal deceits; they will never be worn by me! I have a garb more
becoming the bridal of death; more fitting to wear by the sister of--O
God! I