The curtain was drawn aside at the demand of the audience, and once more Rebecca was seen ready to seek death rather than listen to unholy vows, which could only bring dishonor. The room was still as death; not a whisper sounded; scarcely a breath was drawn. The picture was more lifelike, more replete with silent passion than before; while the breath stood still on every lip, and all eyes were turned on the beautiful girl, a deadly white settled on her face; her lips parted with a cry that prolonged itself into a wail of pain that thrilled through and through the crowd, and the poor creature fell headlong into the darkness, carrying the mock battlement with her. CHAPTER VI. THE SOLDIER’S DEATH. It was the voice of a child that had struck the life from that young heart; a voice so changed and lost in anguish that it seemed to cleave its way through her whole being. “Anna—sister Anna—come down! Our father is killed! He is dead—he is dead!” As the last syllable trembled on the boy’s lips, his sister fell upon the floor at his feet, white, cold, and insensible. He thought the news had killed her. Down he went upon his two knees, and strove to lift up her head, around which the turban gathered like a mockery. “Oh! lift her up! Take off these things,” pleaded the poor boy, lifting his agonized face to those who crowded around him. “She is dead, too! I killed her—it was me! Take them off—take them off; they look so hot and bright—she so cold. Won’t she move? Try and make her look up. See how limp her hand is. Anna, Anna! Oh, sister Anna! must you go, too?” Robert fell down by the side of his sister, shaking in all his limbs, and moaning in piteous sorrow. It did seem as if his cry had killed that fair young creature, who lay there under those rich vestments like a pure white lily in the glow of a warm sunset. The boy lay with his arms on the floor, and his face buried on them, sobbing piteously. The noise of his grief reached that benumbed heart. Anna moved, and lifting her arm feebly, laid it over her trembling brother. He started up with a cry, and rained tears and kisses on her face till she, too, rose up, clinging to him. “Was it you—was it you, Robert, that said it?” “Yes, Anna! Don’t cry; don’t break down again. I could not help telling you; my heart was breaking. Oh! Anna, Anna! my heart is all broken up!” Anna sat upright on the floor. Her hands wandered upward and took the hot turban from her head. “Oh! if these things were put away—if I had my old dress on! How shall we get home, Robert, I—I am so weak?” “Come with me,” said a sweet voice, “come with me. Your dress is all ready; I will help you put it on.” It was Georgiana Halstead, whose pretty face, all anxiety and tender compassion, bent over her. “Come with me, Anna, for I am so sorry for you.” Anna looked up piteously. “My father is dead!” she answered.