But as she thus stood on the same spot where he had left her, gazing earnestly on the ground which she did not see, there was a light knock at the door, and she started, but without replying. The knock was repeated, and she said "Come in." A low, woman's voice, however, answered, "I cannot, lady, the door is locked. Put down your ear to the keyhole." Mechanically she did as she was told, asking, "What is it?" "They have condemned him, lady," said the voice. "I heard them say myself, 'Worthy of death,' and then they hurried him away. I cannot stay for fear some one should come," and a retreating step immediately announced that the speaker had departed. It was true then--too true. He was judged--he was to die--to die for love of her--to die for an act in which she had taken willing part; which she had not only shared, but encouraged. And did her father expect that she would survive him; that she would see the lover of her youth, the husband of a night, thus perish for her sake? that she would live on in the cold world that he had left? Did he expect her to mingle in its gaieties, to take part in its pageants, to taste its enjoyments, to laugh with the merry, and sing with the light of heart? "He knows me not," she said; "he knows me not. The blow that takes my husband's life, takes mine also. It was unkindness, I do believe, that brought my mother slowly to her grave, and this cruelty will be more pitiful in bringing me speedily to mine." Casting herself into a seat, she remained in the same position for more than two hours, with her head drooping forward, her beautiful eyes partly closed, her hands clasped together and fallen upon her knee. Not a motion was to be seen in that fair statue. One might have supposed her sleeping or dead. Sleeping, oh, no; sleep was far, far away. It seemed as if such relief would be banished for ever, and that grief--aye waking--would never know cessation. Dead! She longed to be so; but she knew that long suffering must be first. The lamp flickered at first brightly, showing the exquisite features in their still motionless repose, and the graceful line of each symmetrical limb, as it fell in the dull tranquillity of profound grief. From time to time the ray glittered on a tear--not the quick relief-drop of violent emotion rushing plentiful and fast from the eyes like a summer shower no; but the slow, quiet, trickling tear stealing over the cheek, and pausing here and there, but still swelling over as the fresh supply is wrung from the eye by the slow agony of the heart. They fell unheeded. She knew not that she wept. Not a word escaped her, not a sound passed from her lips. There was no sigh, no sob, no mark of bitter passion; but there she sat, silent and motionless, absorbed in the contemplation of the dark reality ever present to her mind.