For long her wearied spirit had cried "Peace! peace!" and now she laid herself down and slept the long, unbroken sleep of death. "Oh! you have yearned for rest, May you find it in the regions of the blest." As she had died without the pale of the church, they refused the lifeless form a narrow bed in consecrated ground. Even the ordinary service for the dead was entirely omitted; and, without a prayer, they committed her to the silent tomb. The kind old dame, remembering her grief at the secret burial of her noble friend, obtained permission to lay her by his side, and, with the fierce howlings of the tempest for her funereal dirge, they consigned Inez--the proud, beautiful, gifted, yet unfortunate Inez--to rest. Peace, Inez, to thy memory, and may the sod lie lightly on thy early grave! CHAPTER XXXII. "There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two, that are linked in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing, and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!" MOORE. "Come, Florence, put on your bonnet; we land in a few moments," said Mr. Stewart, entering the splendidly furnished saloon of a Mississippi steamer, where she sat, book in hand. Quietly the young wife, for such she now was, complied with his request, and taking her husband's arm, they advanced to the bow of the boat. It was a bright, sunny morning in early May, and the balmy breath of the opening summer wafted gladness to many a weary, aching heart. The margin of the river was fringed with willow, poplar, cotton-wood, and cypress, the delicate fresh green foliage contrasting beautifully with the deep azure sky, and the dark whirling waters of the turbid stream. It was such a day as all of us may have known, when nature wore the garb of perfect beauty, and the soothing influence is felt and acknowledged gratefully--joyfully acknowledged by every one accustomed from childhood duly to appreciate, admire, and love the fair and numberless works of God, who, --"Not content With every food of life to nourish man. Makes all nature beauty to his eye And music to his ear." Florence was gazing intently, as each object receded from her view. They turned an angle in the stream, and drew near a landing, with only a solitary warehouse visible. She started, and her clasped hands, resting on her husband's arm, pressed heavily. He looked down into the flushed face, and said with a smile: "Well, Florence, what is it? Why do you tremble so?" "Mr. Stewart, I cannot be mistaken: this is my father's old landing! Why do you look so strangely? Oh! if you knew what painful memories crowd upon my mind, you could not smile so calmly!" and her voice faltered. Laying his hand tenderly on hers, he replied: