“I have snatched this for the poor child,” she said, when they were seated in the cariole, lifting the corner of her shawl and showing the garland of roses which had encircled Alicia’s head. “I felt sure her young heart was breaking to leave the flowers she loved trampled under foot, sir, and so I brought away this to comfort her.” Captain Clairville smiled approval, but had not time to reply, as the driver stopped just then at the door of the old house in which Rosalie dwelt. The air had revived her, but in her pallid cheek and faltering step were visible the effects of the scene through which she had just passed—anxiety for her father seemed now to absorb every other thought, and with a rapidity which her companions could scarcely equal, she ascended the stairs, and pushing open the door of the still and darkened room, advanced with a noiseless step to the bed. The woman she had left with him still remained at her post, but her look was solemn, and as she raised and then silently moistened the sick man’s lips with a drop of water, she shook her head with a significance which seemed to say there was no longer room for hope. “You cannot mean that he is worse!” cried Rosalie, alarmed by her manner. “He is sleeping calmly, and I perceive no change since I left him.” And bending over him she pressed her lips fondly on his cheek. Its marble coldness startled her, and she raised her eyes with a glance of agony to the kind face of the woman. “It is true child!” she said in reply to that look; “he will soon be gone, and may God comfort the fatherless!” A wild burst of sorrow escaped the poor girl at this confirmation of her worst fears, and she laid her cheek on that of the dying, bathing it with her tears and kisses. That cry—the touch of those fond lips, arrested the departing spirit in its flight. The closing eyes opened and fastened themselves with a look of inexpressible tenderness on the face of his child—then they were raised upward with a radiant smile that spoke of peace and blessedness—but immediately a mysterious shadow passed over the countenance, and as it settled down upon it the spirit quitted its frail tenement, but left its heavenly impress in the smile which lingered long upon the pallid lips. * * * * * The dull, gray morning dawned slowly on that chamber of death shedding a cold light upon the forlorn rose-tree, and stealing, as with a muffled step, to the bed on which reposed, beside her dead father, the youthful form of the gentle, heart-broken daughter. Long after his departure she had seemed to sleep calmly on his bosom, but when they raised her up, to remove her from him, the seal of death was on her angel features—this last sorrow had been too mighty for her poor, tried heart, and in the bitter struggle its chords snapped, and its music was forever hushed on earth, to make glad melody in heaven.