The house was kept very quiet—very unreasonably so, since nothing on earth could now disturb the calm dreamer on the bed. But nevertheless it _was_ kept so very quiet. Straw was laid before the line of garden wall fencing the road, to deaden even at that distance the sound of passing vehicles. The door-knocker was muffled and the wires of the bells were cut. Locks and hinges were oiled. And every man and woman in the place wore list slippers, and moved in silence and murmured in whispers. Very, very still was the place. So that there was no warning of the approaching traveller, until the door of the sick room softly opened and Catherine crept in and whispered to Elfie: “Mr. Justin has come.” With the old familiar household servants Colonel Rosenthal was still Mr. Justin. Elfie started up, and signing to Catherine to take her place, slipped out of the room and down stairs and passed into the library, where she naturally expected to find Justin. He was pacing silently up and down the floor. On her entrance he turned quickly and demanded eagerly: “How is she? How is she?” “Oh, Justin!” exclaimed Elfie, dropping into a chair and bursting into tears. “Dead? dead?” cried Justin, breathlessly, starting towards her and seizing her hand. “Not yet! not yet! Oh, Justin!” “But—dying?” Elfie nodded her head and burst into heavier sobs. Justin threw himself into a chair, covered his face with his hands and groaned in anguish. And so they remained a few moments—Elfie sobbing heavily, Justin struggling for composure. At length Elfie arose and with a still heaving bosom went to her companion and said: “You had better see her now—while—while she—while she still lives.” “Is she conscious?” groaned Justin. Elfie shook her head. “Oh, how—_how_ did she take this fatal fever?” inquired Justin, as he arose to follow his conductor. “How? Can you doubt? By her unremitted devotion to the soldiers in the hospitals. Oh, Justin, Justin! If ever yet a young saint won a crown of martyrdom, your sister will. She visited the fever wards that every one else except surgeons and nurses avoided. She ministered to scores of the fever-stricken, and comforted and saved many. But now, you will see the end.” As Elfie murmured these last words they reached the door of Erminie’s chamber, which had been left standing open for the freer ventilation of the room. “Come in,” said Elfie, leading the way. Justin, with a depressed and reverend bearing, followed Elfie up to the bedside of his sister. Dr. Sales and Catherine were in attendance, but both silently made way for the afflicted brother, who now stood gazing upon the wreck of his beautiful only sister. There she lay, still, white, cold and almost lifeless as marble. Justin’s great frame shook with the terrible storm of sorrow that he could not wholly repress.