Soon the pleasant seat by the sunset window was given up for the couch, and too soon the couch was left for the bed, from which she was never to rise again. Then it was, after her confinement to her bed, that they approached a subject that both had hitherto avoided discussing together—her dissolution. She still spoke to him of the good cause—the cause of justice, truth, and freedom. She implored him to let no individual sorrow draw him away from his labours of love to the whole race of man; rather to consecrate that sorrow to their service. And still she inquired about the prospects of his election to the Senate. She so much wished to see him in the possession of place and power before her death. “Not alone for your sake, dearest Mark,” she still repeated; “not alone for your sake, but for the sake of humanity.” “Oh, dearest Rosalie, why should I wish for success? When you have left me, what motive of action have I on earth?” “A motive higher than any my life could supply you with—the service of God, the good of man.” And all this time piles of accumulated and accumulating letters from political partisans lay unopened and unanswered, on his forsaken secretary. At last the day of death came—a clear, beautiful day, that, after the noontide glory, waned without a cloud. Rosalie lay sleeping on her bed; her pale gold hair, unconfined by a cap, lay floating on the pillow; her wan face was as white as the linen pillow-case against which it rested; her thin, blue-veined arm, uncovered from the loose muslin sleeve, was white as the counterpane upon which it lay. She slept calmly for a while, and then her bosom was agitated by a slight flutter; it came a second and a third time; and then, with a start and a gasp, she awoke, opened her eyes, and gazed wildly about for an instant; then her glance fell on Mrs. Wells, sitting watching by her bed-side. That lady arose, and, bending affectionately over the invalid, inquired— “What do you want, dearest? Will you take your composing draught now?” The eyes of the death-stricken Rosalie softened into self-possession and quietness, and she answered faintly, “No, mother, not now. Where is Mark?” “On the piazza, dear.” “Sleeping?” “No; waiting for his darling to awake.” “Send him to me, mother. I wish to see him alone.” The lady stooped, and pressed a kiss upon the chill brow of the dying girl, and without suspicion went out; and in half a minute Mark stood over Rosalie. She raised her eyes, a little wild with the life-struggle, to his pale face. “My hour is come; I am going, dear Mark; I am going! Turn me over on my right side, facing you. Sit down by me, so that I can see you to the last! Hold my hand!” Agonised with grief, yet by a powerful will controlling his feelings, he raised her light form, and turned her as she desired. And then he wished to call assistance; but with an imploring look and gesture she arrested his purpose, and said,