"There is but little more to tell. I wrote to the girl who took her own letters from the office. I told her all, and from her heard that the bridal day was fixed. The obstacle was removed--not _insanity_, but a _living wife_. Need I say more?" She paused, but from the bed where the crushed, motionless figure lay, there came no sound, and she said again, "Speak, Rosamond. Curse me, if you will, for saving you from an unlawful marriage." Still there was no sound, save the low sighing of the wind, which seemed to have taken a fresh note of sadness as if bewailing the unutterable desolation of the young girl, who lay so still and lifeless that Marie Porter's heart quickened with fear, and drawing near, she touched the little hand resting on the pillow. It was cold-- rigid--as was also the face which she turned to the light. "_It is death!_" she cried, and a wild shriek rang through the house, bringing at once the servants, headed by Mrs. Peters. "_What is it?_" cried the latter, as she saw the helpless figure and beautiful upturned face. "_It's death, madam--death_, and it's coming on me, too," answered Miss Porter, clasping her hands over her heart, which throbbed as it never had done before, and which at last prostrated her upon the lounge. But no one heeded her, save the girl Maria. The rest gave their attention to Rosamond, who lay so long in the death-like stupor that others than Miss Porter believed her dead. _The clock struck five!_ and echoing from the Granby hills the engine- whistle came. Then a slight tremor ran through her frame, and Mrs. Peters whispered joyfully, "There's life--there's hope." Along the highway the returning traveler came with rapid tread, but 'neath the sycamore no Rosamond was waiting. "She is hiding from me," he said, but his search for her was vain, and he rapidly hastened on. All about the house was still. There was no Rosamond at the door--nor in the hall--nor in the parlor--nor on the stairs; but from her chamber came the buzz of voices, and he entered unannounced, recoiling backward when he saw the face upon the pillow, and knew that it was Rosamond's. Every particle of color had left it; there were dark circles beneath the eyes, and a look about the mouth as if the concentrated agony of years had fallen suddenly upon her. "What is it?" he asked, and at the sound of his voice, the brown eyes he had been wont to call so beautiful unclosed, but their sunny brightness was all gone, and he shuddered at their dim, meaningless expression. She seemed to know him, and stretching her arm toward him as a child does toward its mother when danger threatens, she laid her head upon his bosom with a piteous wail--the only really audible sound she had yet uttered. "Rosamond, darling--what has come upon you?" he said, "and why are you in your bridal dress?" At that word she started, and moving away from him, moaned sadly, "It was cruel--oh, so cruel to deceive me, when I loved and trusted him so much."