“A month went by winged with love and hope. Paul found himself growing weaker, but he looked forward to a sea-voyage as a sure means of restoring him to health. Carlotta was hastening her preparatory arrangements, willing to leave her home, willing to brave the perils of the deep, in the belief that old Ocean’s life-inspiring wave would prove the fabled fountain of youth to her beloved. She had never seen consumption in any of its varied and sometimes beautiful forms. She knew not that the eye could retain its lustre, that the cheek could glow with more than its usual brightness, that the heart could be lured by a false hope, until, like a red leaf of the forest, dropping suddenly from the topmost bough, the doomed one fell, stricken down in an unthought of moment by the stern destroyer. “One morning, when Paul had remained much longer than usual in his apartment, Carlotta sought him for the purpose of whiling him abroad. “He was lying asleep on a couch, where he must have thrown himself from very weariness, as one of the brushes with which he had been painting had fallen from his hand upon the floor. His wife softly approached. She stooped and kissed his lips. He opened his eyes, smiled lovingly upon her, and pointed to the picture. “‘You have made me too beautiful, dearest; this must be a copy of the image in your heart.’ “‘Ah, I have not done you justice, you are far more lovely, my own wife, yes, far more lovely—my mother—my mother—’ repeated Paul, dreamily. It was evident his thoughts were wandering. “‘You are exhausted, dear love; but sleep now, and I will watch beside you.’ Carlotta knelt down and laid her cheek on his. Afraid of disturbing him, some minutes elapsed ere she again raised her head and turned to look upon the sleeper. She took the hand that hung listlessly by his side. It was cold, and she thought to warm it by pressing it to her lips—to her cheek—to her heart. She bent her ear close to the sleeper—there was no sound; she laid her lips on his—oh, God! where was the warm breath? A horrible dread came over her, and unable from the intensity of her agony to utter any cry, she sunk down and gazed fixedly in her husband’s face, realizing the heart-touching thoughts of the poet. ‘And still upon that face I look, And think ’twill smile again, And still the thought I cannot brook That I must look in vain.’ “And thus were they found by her father, who was the first to enter the apartment. Paul quite dead—Carlotta lying to all appearance lifeless at his side—and before them the unfinished picture.