skull, and on the finger glittered the ring with which Ella was to have been wed.  The half of the golden locket was clasped to his breast—­the ribbon by which it hung seemed to have been torn rudely from its place, but the hand had kept its hold till the motion caused by our descent—­it fell at Ella’s feet, a sad memento of other days, and recalled her to sensation.  Horror paled the brows of all, but to me was given a deeper woe, to think and know what Ella must have felt.

Every feeling was deepened to intensity of agony in the passing of that night—­that dreary closing of my bridal day.  How came the morning’s light I know not, but when it did, the fresh breeze blew on my brow, and I saw the remains of De Clairville lying on the grass before me—­they had borne him from below, and it showed more plainly the crime which had been among us.  The deep blue of the dress was changed to a darker hue where the red life blood had flowed, and from the back was drawn the treacherous implement of death.  The hearts of all readily whispered the murderer’s name, and fuller proof was given in that ancient dagger that had long been an heir-loom in the family of Conrad—­a relic of the old Teutonic race from whence they sprung—­well was it known, and we had often wondered at its disappearance.  He, Conrad, was the murderer—­he had slain De Clairville, and fired the building to conceal his crime.  God was the avenger of the dark deed—­the mighty hand of conscience struck him in his proudest hour—­the humblest things of earth, brought deathly terror to his soul.  ’Twas evident the appearance of the mullen plant, which drew us to the spot, had been the cause of his death.  The words of the old sailor seemed true.  The lowly herb had brought the crime to light, and in the hand of heaven had punished the murderer.

We buried De Clairville beneath a mossy mound, where the lofty pine and spicy cedar waved above, and hallowed words were said o’er his rest.  A blight seemed to hover o’er our lonely settlement by the deed which had been done within it.  Nothing bound us to the spot; but hues of sadness rested with it, and ever would.  ’Twas an unhallowed spot, and we prepared to leave it, and seek another resting place.

Our boats lay ready by the beach, and some were already embarked.  I took a last look around—­something white gleamed among the trees around De Clairville’s grave—­’twas Ella, who lay there dead.  She always accused herself as the cause of De Clairville’s death, and indirectly, too, she had been—­but restitution now was made.  We laid her by his side, and thus I lost my early, only love.

Here then was it where we chose our heritage, and here we have since remained, but everything is changed since then.  Many an aged brow has passed from earth, and many a bright eye closed in death.  Every trace of old is passing away, save where their shadows glide in the memory.  Even the grave where Ella slept is gone from earth.