We flew along the streets, running against every body—seeing nobody—heeding nobody. I asked no questions. I knew there was something terrible; but I was going to Louise, and felt that I should soon know all. All houses stood upon the latch in Hamburgh in those days. I opened the door—I went in—I rushed up the stairs—I heard him cry “stop, stop”—but the trumpet of an angel would not have called me back. I entered her sitting-room. She was not there. I heeded not. I knew her bed-room lay beyond. I passed on and opened the door. She was seated in a chair, with all the bright color gone from her cheek, except at one point. A physician stood beside her, with a glass in his hand. One old maid-servant was kneeling at her feet, wrapping them in flannel. A handkerchief, dyed with blood, was at her lips. Could I pause? No, had it killed both her and myself. In an instant I was across the room, at her feet, and my arms around her. “Louise, my own Louise,” I cried. She looked at me with surprise—then gazed beyond me to her father, who followed close—then cast her arms round my neck, and leaned her head upon my shoulder, saying in a faint voice, “Louis, dear Louis, you have saved me—I feel—I am sure, I shall live to be your wife.” “Hush, hush,” said the physician. “You must not speak at all.” “You shall be his wife; you shall be his wife!” cried her father eagerly. “I am very happy,” said Louise. “I must have perfect silence,” said the physician, “all will go well now; but every one must quit the room.” “No one shall tend her but myself,” I said; “but I will be as still as night. She is mine—mine by the deepest and the holiest ties, and I will not leave her till this is staid.” Nor did I; but through the live-long night, with the physician and the fond old servant, I remained silently watching, aiding, comforting, supporting her. From time to time the spitting of blood returned; but, at length, ice was thought of and procured. That checked it effectually. Two hours passed without the slightest return of that direful symptom, and lifting her in my arms, as a father might a child, I placed her in her bed. Then seating myself on a little footstool at the side, I laid my head upon the same pillow. I thought she would sleep more happily so. Her heavy eyes closed quietly; her breathing became calm and gentle; she slept; and ere many minutes had passed, I slept beside her. THE FADING OF THE FLOWER. The hemorrhage returned no more. Louise and I awoke at nearly the same moment, just as the morning light was streaming in through the windows, and she smiled sweetly to see me there, with my head upon her pillow, and the good old servant sitting fast asleep at the foot of her bed.