Entering the room on tiptoe, she gave her uncle her mother’s message, and then stealing up to Rose, wound her arms round her neck, and laying her soft, warm cheek caressingly against the white, thin face of her teacher, wept her last adieu. They would never, never meet again, for ere the summer flowers were faded, _one_ would be safely in the bosom of the Good Shepherd, who would lead her in green pastures, and beside the still waters of the better land. “Bury her under the tall magnolia, a little ways from father,” was Jessie’s last injunction to Dr. Clayton, whose tears burst forth afresh, for not till then had he thought how he must leave her alone in that far south land—many miles away from her native hills, and that to him would be denied the solace of weeping over her early grave. * * * * * It was in vain that Mr. Delafield attempted to dissuade his sister from going. She would not listen, for their lives, she said, were all endangered by remaining in town, and as several other families were going to leave, she should follow their example—then bidding him hasten to them the moment Rose was dead, she entered her carriage and was driven rapidly away, followed by Halbert and two or three negroes on horseback. Unfeeling as this proceeding seemed to Richard, he still experienced a sensation of relief at the absence of the family, and thinking they would probably be safer at “The Pines” than at Cedar Grove, he returned to the chamber above, where Rose still lay, in the same deathlike unconsciousness, perfectly still save when a movement of the head, or a faint moan, told how she suffered. Everything had been done for her which could be done, and now there was naught for them to do but to wait and watch, which they did in perfect silence—Dr. Clayton, with his head bowed upon the pillow, while Mr. Delafield leaned against the wall, with compressed lips, and eyes dark as midnight, fastened upon the white, still face before him. The clock in the hall struck the hour of eleven, and then, with a feeble moan, the sick girl withdrew her hand from beneath the covering, and when the stern man took it within his own he forced back an exclamation of joy, for it was moist with perspiration! There was hope, and his first impulse was to tell the good news to his companion, but the demon, which all the morning he had hugged to his bosom, whispered, “not now—let him suffer yet a little longer!” Soon, however, casting this thought aside as unworthy of him, he said, “Look up, Dr. Clayton, she is better. She may live. _See!_” and lifting the damp hair from her brow, he pointed to the dewy drops which stood thickly upon it.