CHAPTER XXX.

In this lost condition of tearless despair I remained for three days, contemplating with as much indifference of disgust as if they had been worms, the servants and doctors that occasionally crept about my darkened chamber before me. I drank as much water in this time as would have drowned me, but broke no bread-absolutely none.

That night, still lying on my bed, I heard a sort of bustling of feet, and a suppressed whispering going on in the staircase with which my room communicated, and a sudden suspicion rushed into my mind, which as suddenly made me rise from my bed. I slipped on my dressing-gown, and opening the door, perceived the end of the pall, which two or three men, treading on their stocking soles, were carrying into the next apartment. I followed

them, and startled by my appearance the whole array of women-servants who were there busied in their preparations. I ordered them all to leave the room instantly. The men set down their burden, and obeyed, all but one, who stopped for a moment to turn to the women and say that he was the person who was to fasten the screws, and that they would call him up again when he was wanted. He then laid down his hammers and chisels, and followed the others, still stalking upon the points of his toes, as if the dead were to hear, or the living notice his tread. I said to the females when he had disappeared, "Leave me, all of you, and tell those men too that they have nothing more to do here at present.-Leave me."

I suppose I spoke in such a manner as to frighten the poor creatures. They all stole away immediately without saying a word—they scarcely even dared to glance at me as they passed me, for I was standing close by the door.

I was alone with my dead-and who the slayer? "Murdered innocents! no hand but mine shall touch your remains ;"-such was my thought as I approached the bed on which they were both

lying-the infant beside its mother. I lifted the cloth from Joanne's face. Ah! how calm, how celestially calm !—what a holy tranquillity!—A smile-yes, a smile was fixed on the lips; those soft, silken eye-lashes, in what serenity did they sleep upon the marble!-Poor little floweret! thy leaves were scarcely opened; what a light dream must this world be to thee!—I lifted my wife in my arms; the cold ice crept through every fibre of my frame.-Gentle soul! what a warm and humble heart has been frozen here!-I laid her in the coffin, and then brought her baby and placed it on her breast,-fastening one of the bands round them, so that the position might not be disturbed. I kissed them both, and covered them up for ever!-I had seen too much of death not to be well acquainted with my duty. I did everything that is commonly done. I shook in the saw-dust; I scattered the perfumes; I drew the napkin over the cold, sweet faces.—“ Farewell, farewell for ever!" said I. "At least, Joanne, no other wife shall ever lie upon the bosom that I said was yours! No other baby but yours shall ever claim the last office from these hands!"

I lifted the lid, and laid it in its place, and screwed down the nails. The bodily exertion, perhaps. had roused me too much; or it might be, that I was more softened while they still seemed to be with me. I cannot tell; but I know that I spent the whole night in striding up and down the room beside them, and that when the entering day-light dimmed the lamp, I was still equally without the resolution to go, or the tenderness to weep.

CHAPTER XXXI.

I WAS stalking about, then, in the same dull half frenzy, when some one knocked at the door. Taking it for granted it was some of the servants, I answered in a voice of rage, " Begone !"—but the knock was repeated. I rushed to the door and opened it, (for it was both locked and barred within,) and there was Katharine ! -She was dressed as if for going out, and her boy was in her hand.

"Come in, Katharine,” said I; “I did not dream that it was you.-Come in.”

She entered, still leading the child with her.— I gazed upon her with a sort of awe, and even dread; her cheek was so pale, so bloodless,―her lips so white and bleached,-her eyes so fixed in the gloomy stedfastness of utter desolation.