"Yes:--I remember--who is able to save--to--the--utter most--" his voice died away. When next his eyes moved, it was slowly and painfully; but their restless light was not extinct. The stiffening mouth contracted. "He says 'Pray!'" said Ida to Morton. Every head was bowed; and the opening sentence of the prayer brought a deeper quiet to every heart. "'Lord! Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations!'" The language was simple, scriptural and fervent,--the pleading of a son, in behalf of a brother, with an indulgent Parent. As he repeated the text, Lynn had dwelt upon, Ida felt the feeble pressure of his hand;--he was alive and conscious then. The rest arose at the "Amen." She had not knelt; but she did not raise her head from the pillow;--her soul had caught the farewell of his, as it flew away upon its long journey! There was a movement through the room--a breathless pause--a solemn voice said "He is gone!" and tears and sobbings broke forth. His hand still held hers; and the other was folded over them in supplication;--the eyes still looked heavenward--but they were fixed. Dead! dead! in his glorious beauty--in the flush of youth! deaf to the recall of mourning hearts--and the awakening echoes of the fame his genius had won! If _he_ could die, who was sure of an hour of life. CHAPTER XVII. Ellen Morris accepted an invitation to Petersburg, ere the angry pique, aroused by Lynn's reproaches, passed off. The promise was hardly given, when she would have revoked it, had not pride held her to her word. Her friends were solicitous, that the far-famed hospitality of their city should not seem to the Richmond beauty, to have been vaunted too highly; and she appreciated their efforts; but the fortnight she had named as the period of her stay, crept slowly by. She hoped confidently to see her lover again at her feet, when the heat of passion was over; yet she was wretched in the recollection of her trifling, and the misery it had inflicted upon his high-toned spirit. Twice she prepared to write to him, and end a suspense torturing to both,--and twice dashed down the pen in shame and pride. The wished-for hour of departure arrived. The morning was bleak; the snow had ceased falling, but the clouds were low and threatening. Her entertainers begged her to wait but a day longer. "If it were a matter of life and death, you could not be more obstinate," said her hostess, fretted at her unreasonableness. "And how do you know that it is not?" answered she, jestingly. "It is no joking matter, Miss Ellen," said a young man, gravely. "They have not cleared the snow from the track as it ought to be done. You would feel badly to have your neck broken." "That is a trifle compared with a broken heart;" and she laughed lightly.