For three successive days and nights, Kara Aziek enjoyed the sacred pleasure of seeing her sick bed attended by the object dearest to her on earth; whenever she opened her eyes, during the day or the night, still they met the anxious gaze either of her husband or her daughter. Hyppolito too, watched her with a son’s tenderness, and the attached Baptista shared in all their feelings. Contemplating her husband restored to liberty by the noble youth with whom Blanche was to unite her destiny, seeing in Don Christopher the faithful friend that was to repair her loss, and cheer the spirit of Sebastian, Kara Aziek felt a grateful and placid happiness, which sweetened the pains of approaching death. How much was there to be thankful for, in a death thus softened, which otherwise must have approached in unutterable horror! She ventured not to repine that her life was prematurely abridged by late sorrow, since of former felicity, she had enjoyed so large a portion; and fixing her thoughts on that eternity which would re-unite her with her husband, she gently yielded to the decay of all her powers. Like gradual sleep, death stole over her faculties and her feelings; she lay stretched on a couch, losing by degrees the powers of motion, and of speech, the faculty of hearing, and of sight. Sebastian hung over her marble form, speechless, pale, and despairing: he spoke, and she heard him not; he touched her, and the death-cold hand that returned not the agonizing grasp of his, convinced him that she felt not the pressure. But still her closing eyes were directed towards him, and the heavenly smile that moved her lips, spoke to his breaking heart of love and better hopes. Too soon these dim eyes ceased to see the objects before them, her faint breathing was scarce perceptible,--she breathed only at intervals; at length her eyelids closed for ever, and she breathed no more! Blessed close of a virtuous life! what are all the wild transports of earthly joy, when compared with the mercy of thus “falling asleep” to wake in Paradise? Sebastian was standing with his eyes fixed on her face, and his hand holding hers; he watched her yet, but his looks were no longer sad and patient, they expressed alarm, anguish, desperation. He put his lips to hers; no breath mingled with his; his hand sought her heart,--all there was still!--a mortal cry came from his very soul, and dropping the cold arm he was grasping, the desolate Sebastian fell lifeless upon the body of her he lamented. Supported by her lover, Blanche was kneeling by the bed, distracted between grief for her mother, and fear for her father’s senses; Hyppolito hastily resigned her to Baptista, and judging this to be the decisive moment, he dashed away his own tears, and motioning to the pale Don Christopher, they lifted Sebastian from the chamber into the open air.