With the last words, uttered very feebly, Anne sank back into her old attitude. She lay there many minutes, her face beautiful in its perfect rest. The other face--his face--was altogether hidden. But they saw that, as his arms grasped her round, every muscle was quivering. The convulsion grew so strong that even Anne felt it. She opened her eyes, and tried to speak again. “Brian, poor Brian? Be content! it is not for long--not for very long.” Her fingers began to flutter feebly on his neck. She fringed the grey locks round them in a childish, absent way, muttering to herself. “How very soft it feels still! He used to have such beautiful hair!” Then, as if she felt her mind wandering, and strove to recall it, that to the very last moment it might rest on him, she again forcibly opened her eyes and fixed them on Brian's face. They never left it afterwards. The whole world seemed to have faded from her except that face. For a minute or two longer she lay looking at him, her countenance all radiant, until, gradually and softly, her eyes closed. “Hush!” whispered Nathanael, as he drew his weeping wife closer to his bosom, and pointed out the beatitude of that dying smile. “Hush--she is quite happy. She has gone home!” THE END.