“It is useless,” answered Leroy.  “It is nearly two days since we left home.  The fever is spreading south of us with fearful rapidity.  To return home is to walk into the jaws of death.  It was my intention to have stopped at Vicksburg, but now I will go on as soon as I can make the connections.”

Early next morning Leroy and his wife started again on their journey.  The cars were filled with terror-stricken people who were fleeing from death, when death was everywhere.  They fled from the city only to meet the dreaded apparition in the country.  As they journeyed on Leroy grew restless and feverish.  He tried to brace himself against the infection which was creeping slowly but insidiously into his life, dulling his brain, fevering his blood, and prostrating his strength.  But vain were all his efforts.  He had no armor strong enough to repel the invasion of death.  They stopped at a small town on the way and obtained the best medical skill and most careful nursing, but neither skill nor art availed.  On the third day death claimed Leroy as a victim, and Marie wept in hopeless agony over the grave of her devoted husband, whose sad lot it was to die from home and be buried among strangers.

But before he died he placed his will in Marie’s hands, saying:  “I have left you well provided for.  Kiss the children for me and bid them good-bye.”

He tried to say a parting word to Gracie, but his voice failed, and he fainted into the stillness of death.  A mortal paleness overspread his countenance, on which had already gathered the shadows that never deceive.  In speechless agony Marie held his hand until it released its pressure in death, and then she stood alone beside her dead, with all the bright sunshine of her life fading into the shadows of the grave.  Heart-broken and full of fearful forebodings, Marie left her cherished dead in the quiet village of H——­ and returned to her death-darkened home.

It was a lovely day in June, birds were singing their sweetest songs, flowers were breathing their fragrance on the air, when Mam Liza, sitting at her cabin-door, talking with some of the house servants, saw a carriage approaching, and wondered who was coming.

“I wonder,” she said, excitedly, “whose comin’ to de house when de folks is done gone.”

But her surprise was soon changed to painful amazement, when she saw Marie, robed in black, alighting from the carriage, and holding Gracie by the hand.  She caught sight of the drooping head and grief-stricken face, and rushed to her, exclaiming:—­

“Whar’s Marse Eugene?”

“Dead,” said Marie, falling into Mammy Liza’s arms, sobbing out, “dead! _ died_ of yellow fever.”

A wild burst of sorrow came from the lips of the servants, who had drawn near.

“Where is he?” said Mam Liza, speaking like one suddenly bewildered.

“He is buried in H——.  I could not bring him home,” said Marie.