"Good heavens, doctor," cried Mrs. Astor, "what makes you look so?--what is it?--what was it?" "Where did you get this?" said he, sternly. "At the apothecary's--I took it from that chest--examine it, pray." The doctor turned away with a groan, and approached his beautiful patient, now gasping and convulsed. He applied the most powerful antidotes, but without effect. "I am dying," she cried, "I am dying--I am poisoned--but oh, doctor, save me--save me--let me see him, if I must die--let me see him again;" and she held out her hands imploringly to Mrs. Astor, who was in a state little short of distraction. "Only tell me, if you mean Mr. Hall." "Who should I mean but Augustus?" she cried. "Perhaps in death he may forgive me." The doctor made a motion that her request should be complied with, and a messenger was despatched. What an awful scene was presented, when he entered that chamber of death! Was that the idol of his young heart, the morning star of his manhood; she, who lay livid, writhing and raving there? Her long, dark hair hung in dishevelled masses over her neck and arms, her large black eyes were fearfully dilated, and full of that unutterable agony which makes the spirit quail before the might of human suffering. Cold sweat-drops gleamed on her marble brow, and her hands were damp with that dew which no morning sunbeam can ever exhale. "Almighty Father!" exclaimed Mr. Hall, "what a sight is this!" The sound of that voice had the power to check the ravings of delirium. She shrieked, and stretched out her arms towards him, who sunk kneeling by the bedside, covering his face with his hands, to shut out the appalling spectacle. "Forgive me," she cried, in hollow and altered accents--"Augustus, you are terribly avenged--I loved you, even when I left you for another. Oh! pray for me to that great and dreadful God, who is consuming me, to have mercy on me hereafter." He did pray, but it was in spirit, his lips could not articulate; but his uplifted hands and streaming eyes called down pardon and peace on the dying penitent. The reason, that had flashed out for a moment, rekindled by memory and passion, was now gone for ever. All the rest was but the striving of mortal pain, the rending asunder of body and soul. In a short time all was over, and the living were left to read one of the most tremendous lessons on the vanity of beauty, and the frailty of life, mortality could offer in all its gloomy annals.