Wentworth presently entered. He seemed calm, for the nurse's eye was upon him; asked her how she was, and talked for a few minutes, and then getting up, as if to take Pauline's hand for farewell, he approached his lips close to her ear, said some low muttered words, and left the room. Pauline did not speak for some time after he had withdrawn, and the nurse receiving no answer to some question she had asked her, went up to her, and found she had fainted. Shivering succeeded to fainting fits--faintings to shivering; they thought that night that she was dying. A few days after she said, in a quick, low, frightened voice to her mother, "Lock the doors mother, quick!" Much startled, Mrs. Grey did instantly as Pauline requested, and then her ear, less fine than the sensitive organ of her unhappy daughter, caught the sound of Wentworth's voice in the hall below. "Fear not, my Pauline," she said, as she took her in her arms, "your father will protect you;" but no sound escaped Pauline's lips. She was evidently intently listening. Soon loud voices were heard, doors shutting--and then the street door with a bang. Presently Mr. Grey's measured tread was heard coming up stairs, and next his hand was on the lock. "Is he alone?" were the first words Pauline had uttered since she had heard her husband's voice. "He is, my child." "Pauline, fear not, you shall never see him again," were the words of her father, uttered in a calm but deep voice. That night Pauline slept tranquilly, for the first time almost since she had known Wentworth. She seemed revived in the morning, and Mrs. Grey's hopes rose again, but only to be dashed once more forever. The iron had eaten too deeply in her soul. Pauline's slight frame had no power of renovation. The spirit seemed to grow brighter and brighter as she wasted away. Unutterable love and gratitude looked out from her eyes, as she turned them from her father and mother, alternately; but she was too weak to say much, and gently thus she faded away to fall asleep upon earth, awakening a purified and regenerated spirit in heaven. Her's was "a broken and a contrite heart," and of such is the kingdom of heaven. * * * * * Could mortal agony such as Mr. Grey's be added to, as he followed his idolized child to the grave? Yes--even there something was to be added--for Wentworth, as chief mourner, stepped forward and offered his arm to the unhappy father, which, even at that moment, and in that presence, Mr. Grey could not help shaking off. * * * * * And what have this childless, broken-hearted couple left of their beautiful daughter? A picture--delicate and lovely in its lineaments, but "To those who see thee not, my words are weak, To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak." The canvas must fail in the life-speaking eye; and exquisite though the pictured image be, oh! how cold to those who knew and idolized the beautiful original.