The conversation up to this point had been conducted in the mysterious whispers of a sick room, but Alfred's voice, from excess of excitement, in the last sentence unconsciously assumed its natural key. As he concluded his apostrophy to Heaven, his eyes, which had been uplifted in the fervour of devotional feeling fell again on Caroline. Her's were wide open, and fixed on him, with an almost wild expression of terror and bewilderment! In a moment more, the crimson rash had, for a second, crossed her brow; the piercing cry escaped her lips, and she had fallen again into that totally inanimate state, which had characterised her first seizure, and distinguished it from the sleep-like trance in which she had subsequently lain. All was instant confusion and dismay. Alfred, almost wild with terror, raised the drooping head which had slid from the pillow, supported the fair cheek against his bosom; and chafed, now the temples, now the hands, mechanically, endeavouring to obey the directions of the doctor, while his own hands trembled, till they could scarcely perform the task assigned them. The doctor himself, too, seemed much alarmed, and somewhat taken by surprize; he tried all the means of restoring animation he could think of, but in vain. At length he began to look very serious indeed. To Alfred's frantic adjurations, half question, half entreaty, as though the doctor's words could reverse the decree of fate, he replied repeatedly, and with decision, that all was over. "There is not now," he added, "the strength to rally there had been at the time of the first attack." A mournful silence followed: all, as with one consent, discontinued their efforts. The doctor folded his arms. The very attendants stood for a considerable time quite motionless. Alfred was kneeling beside the couch, in the attitude he had taken, while striving to render assistance to her, who was now no more. At length the nurses, anxious in their officious zeal to perform the duties they considered their province, drew near, removed the head of Caroline from his supporting shoulder, and laid it on the centre of the pillow, then withdrew the hand he still grasped in his, and arranging the delicate fingers, placed it by her side; while the doctor approaching, raised our hero, and led him from the room, attempting, as he did so, the usual common-places of conversation: it was an event which had been expected for some time. There was so little hope of ultimate recovery, that it might be considered a happy release; for even had her life been preserved, her faculties could never have been restored. As for our hero, he heard him not; all his thoughts, discoloured and distorted by late events, were desperate. "It was well," he inwardly ejaculated, "yes, it was well--life was misery--death a refuge--why should any one desire to live?"