And she watched that vessel,—treasuring every moment that she might yet behold it—as we watch a beloved and dying face that we feel must soon vanish from our sight forever. She watched it until she saw the sails shaken out of their reefs, and other sails hoisted, and all draw and fill with the wind as the Petrel left her anchorage and glided gracefully over the waters in her course down the Bay. She watched it as the sails lessened in the distance; she watched it out of sight—straining her eyes after it until the Petrel appeared no larger than a snow-flake on the blue sea against the horizon, into which it soon seemed to melt and disappear. It was gone! _He_ was gone! Yet still she did not change her attitude or withdraw her gaze; but remained with her strained eyes fixed upon the spot under the horizon where the sail had disappeared! It was very late in the afternoon, and Susan had paid many visits to her lady’s chamber door to listen if she could hear her stir, and had even rapped once or twice to attract her notice; when at length growing uneasy, she gently opened the door and looked in; seeing the bed unoccupied she became alarmed, entered the room and passed on to the parlor, where, at the front window, she saw her mistress sitting quite still, leaning her forehead against the window pane, and apparently gazing out upon the Bay. “Why, dear Madam, how indiscreet! Have you been up all night?” inquired Susan, anxiously approaching the lady. But the stationary figure neither spoke nor moved. “Lady! Lady Montressor!” exclaimed the girl, going closer to her side. But no word or gesture responded to that call. “She has fallen asleep sitting there—she will get cold; she must be waked. Lady! Lady! dear Lady!” exclaimed Susan, taking the hand that hung down by her side. But that hand was a hand of ice. “Good angels, how cold she is! Madam! dear Mistress! Oh Heavens! what ails her?” cried the girl, putting her arms gently and respectfully around the lady’s shoulders, and seeking to lift her head. At that touch the sufferer murmured strangely, wildly, vaguely. “What is the matter? Dear Lady, what is this?” said Susan in great distress. “Gone! gone! gone!” exclaimed Estelle in a hollow, echoing voice. “Oh! you have been asleep—rouse yourself, dear lady! Wake up!” “Gone! gone! gone!” “Oh, Heaven! what ails her! What shall I do with her? Lady Montressor! speak to me! look on me! it is I—your poor, faithful Susan! Speak to me, please!” “Gone! gone! gone!” Once more Susan put her arms reverently around her mistress’s shoulders and sought to lift her head. And at that touch the lady turned toward her a death-like face, from which every shade of color had faded, and vacant eyes whence the light of intellect had gone out! Yes! the heroic soul that had borne up so long, and bravely, and patiently, under such tremendous afflictions, had succumbed at length; the sorely over-tasked heart and brain had yielded; the light of reason had fled.