Edwin staggered back into a chair.

“Is she ill?” he inquired, with a quivering lip.

“Ill!  She is dying!” There was something of indignation in the way this was said.

“Dying!” The young man clasped his hands together with a gesture of despair.

“How long has she been sick?” he next ventured to ask.

“For months she has been dying daily,” said the aunt.  There was a meaning in her tones that the young man fully comprehended.  He had not dreamed of this.

“Can I see her?”

The aunt shook her head, as she answered,

“Let her spirit depart in peace.”

“I will not disturb, but calm her spirit,” said the young man, earnestly.  “Oh, let me see her, that I may call her back to life!”

“It is too late,” replied the aunt.  “The oil is exhausted, and light is just departing.”

Edwin started to his feet, exclaiming passionately—­“Let me see her!  Let me see her!”

“To see her thus, would be to blow the breath that would extinguish the flickering light,” said the aunt.  “Go home, young man!  It is too late!  Do not seek to agitate the waters long troubled by your hand, but now subsiding into calmness.  Let her spirit depart in peace.”

Florence sunk again into his chair, and, hiding his face with his hands, sat for some moments in a state of a mental paralysis.

In the chamber above lay the pale, almost pulseless form of Edith.  A young girl, who had been as her sister for many years, sat holding her thin white hand.  The face of the invalid was turned to the wall.  Her eyes were closed; and she breathed so quietly that the motions of respiration could hardly be seen.  Nearly ten minutes had elapsed from the time a servant whispered to the aunt that there was some one in the parlor, when Edith turned, and said to her companion, in a low, calm voice—­

“Mr. Florence has come.”

The girl started, and a flush of surprise went over her face.

“He is in the parlor now.  Won’t you ask him to come up?” added the dying maiden, still speaking with the utmost composure.

Her friend stood surprised and hesitating for some moments, and then turning away, glided from the chamber.  She found the aunt and Mr. Florence in the passage below, the latter pleading with the former for the privilege of seeing Edith, which was resolutely denied.

“Edith wants to see Mr. Florence,” said the girl, as she joined them.

“Who told her that he was here?” quickly asked the aunt.

“No one.  I did not know it myself.”

“Her heart told her that I was here,” exclaimed Mr. Florence—­and, as he spoke, he glided past the aunt, and, with hurried steps, ascended to the chamber where the dying one lay.  The eyes of Edith were turned towards the door as he entered; but no sign of emotion passed over her countenance.  Overcome by his feelings, at the sight of the shadowy remnant of one so loved and so wronged, the young man sunk into a chair by her side, as nerveless as a child; and, as his lips were pressed upon her lips and cheeks, her face was wet with his tears.