"I am sure of it," she replied, a brighter gleam of pleasure crossing her features, on which the hues of death were fast darkening. "I am sure of it _now_. I think my mind grows clearer, as my body dies away. I see—I see—there _is_ God! Julia—there is an hereafter—an eternity—rest for the weary, joy for the woful! yes! yes! I see—I feel it. We shall meet, Julia. We shall meet, Paullus, Paullus!" And she sank back fainting and overpowered upon Julia’s bosom. In a moment or two, however, she opened her eyes again, but it was clear that the spirit was on the point of taking its departure. "I am going!" she said in a very low voice. "I am going. His sword was more merciful than its master.—Bury me in a nameless grave. Let no stone tell the tale of unhappy, guilty Lucia. But come sometimes, Julia, Paullus, and look where I lie; and sometimes—will you not sometimes remember Lucia?" "You shall live in our souls forever!" replied Julia, stooping down to kiss her. "In your arms, Paullus, in your arms! will you not let me, Julia? ’Twere sweet to die in your arms, Paullus."— "How can you ask?" cried Julia, who scarce could speak for the tears and sobs, which almost choked her. "Here, Paullus, take her, gently, gently." "Oh! sweet—oh! happy!" she murmured, as she leaned her head against his heart, and fixed her glazing eyes upon his features, and clasped his hand with her poor dying fingers. "She told you, Paullus, that for your love I died to save her!" "She did—she did—dear, dearest Lucia!"— "Kiss me," she whispered; "I am going very fast. Kiss me on the brow, Paullus, where years ago you kissed me, when I was yet an innocent child." Then, fancying that he hesitated, she cried, "you will let him kiss me, now, will you not, Julia? He is yours"— "Oh! kiss her, kiss her, Paullus," exclaimed Julia eagerly, "how could you fancy, Lucia, that I should wish otherwise? kiss her lips, not her brow, Paullus Arvina." "Kiss me first thou, dear Julia. I _may_ call you dear." "Dear Lucia, dearest sister!" And the pure girl leaned over and pressed a long kiss on the cold lips of the unhappy, guilty, regenerated being, whose death had won for her honor, and life, and happiness. "Now, Paullus, now," cried Lucia, raising herself from his bosom by a last feeble effort, and stretching out her arms, "now, ere it be too late!"— He bowed down to her and kissed her lips, and she clasped her arms close about his neck, and returned that last chaste caress, murmuring "Paullus, mine own in death, mine own, own Paullus!"— There was a sudden rigor, a passing tremulous spasm, which ran through her whole frame for a moment—her arms clasped his neck more tightly than before, and then released their hold, all listless and unconscious—her head fell back, with the eyes glazed and visionless, and the white lips half open. "She is dead, Julia!" exclaimed Paullus, who was not ashamed to weep at that sad close of so young and sorrowful a life, "dead for our happiness!"