“Wilhelmine! Wilhelmine! grief at this time distracts you, but remember, nothing here is eternal, not even an affection as pure is ours. Believe a man who has had much experience; your heart will feel the ‘strong necessity of loving.’ Happy will he be who fulfills that want! May he be worthy of that enjoyment!” Wilhelmine covered her husband’s hands with kisses; she seemed almost indignant at being thus misunderstood, thus illy judged; she repulsed these mournful predictions; but the dying one drew her gently toward him, “My love, life departs, the last moment approaches. Here, take back this ring, I release thee from all thy promises!” “Ah! have pity on me! retain this ring, and if ever your fatal prophecies should be realised; if ever I bestow on another the affection you should bear with you, unbroken in the tomb, it is from yourself I will demand the right; it is in your grave I will seek this ring; it is from your finger I will dare to take it! _Most solemnly I swear it!_” “Wilhelmine! no impious words—no rash oaths!” The baron pronounced these words with difficulty—and they were his last. He revived only to fall into renewed paroxysms, and after a few hours, expired in the arms of his despairing wife. Wilhelmine sincerely mourned for the man who had acquired so many claims on her gratitude. During a long period the young widow remained shut up in her château, surrounding herself with all objects calculated to recall her past felicity, and seeming to revel in her sorrow, by refusing every means by which it might have been alleviated. At the end of three years, an event obliged her to leave this solitude. Madame de Cernan fell dangerously ill. Wilhelmine, terrified by the peril of her mother, forgot her grief, and made preparations for immediate departure. A celebrated physician resided at Brussels, and it was decided they should travel to that city. The tenderness of a daughter is sometimes as inexhaustible as that of a mother; and only those who have seen their parents on the brink of the grave, who have experienced the agony of their loss, can comprehend the profundity of filial love. Wilhelmine dreaded the moment when she might read in the physician’s eyes, the sentence of life or death for her mother; and at length that moment, so feared while it was desired, arrived. The doctor reassured her concerning the illness of Madame de Cernan; but her convalescence, he said, must be tedious, and they must not think of removing their residence for several months.