On the morning of the ninth day, Peggy sunk into a deathlike stupor. Her mind had wandered during all her sickness, though most of the time she lay in a deep lethargy, from which nothing could rouse her. "Go down to the spring and breathe the fresh air," said the doctor; "there should be perfect quiet here,--a few hours will decide her fate." I went down to the spring, where the twilight shades were gathering. The air came with balmy freshness to my anxious, feverish brow. I scooped up the cold water in the hollow of my hand and bathed my face. I shook my hair over my shoulders, and dashed the water over every disordered tress. I began to breathe more freely. The burning weight, the oppression, the suffocation were passing away, but a dreary sense of misery, of coming desolation remained. I sat down on the long grass, and leaning my head on my clasped hands, watched the drops as they fell from my dropping hair on the mossy rock below. "Is it not too damp for you here?" I knew Richard Clyde was by me,--I heard his light footsteps on the sward, but I did not look up. "It is not as damp as the grave will be," I answered. "Don't talk so, Gabriella, don't. I cannot bear to hear you. This will be all over soon, and it will be to you like a dark and troubled dream." "Yes; I know it will be all over soon. We shall all lie in the churchyard together,--Peggy, my mother, and I,--and you will plant a white rose over my mother's grave, will you not? Not over mine. No flowers have bloomed for me in life,--it would be nothing to place them over my sleeping dust." "Gabriella! You are excited,--you are ill. Give me your hand. I know you have a feverish pulse." I laid my hand on his, with an involuntary motion. Though it was moist with the drops that had been oozing over it, it had a burning heat. He startled at its touch. "You are ill,--you are feverish!" he cried. "The close air of that little room has been killing you. I knew it would. You should have gone to Mrs. Linwood's, you and your mother, when she sent for you. Peggy would have been abundantly cared for." "What, leave her here to die!--her, so good, so faithful, and affectionate, who would have died a thousand times over for us. Oh Richard, how can you speak of such a thing! Peggy is dying now,--I know that she is. I never looked on death, but I saw its shadow on her livid face. Why did Dr. Harlowe send me away? I am not afraid to see her die. Hark! my mother calls me." I started up, but my head was dizzy, and I should have fallen had not Richard put his arm around me. "Poor girl," said he, "I wish I had a sister to be with and comfort you. These are dark hours for us all, for we feel the pressure of God Almighty's hand. I do not wonder that you are crushed. You, so young and tender. But bear up, Gabriella. The day-spring will yet dawn, and the shadows fly away."