“‘It is just as I told you, Harry,’ I said, as I handed him the dispatch and fell back on my seat. I did not faint; I did not even groan, because I was prepared for the awful blow. I felt as if some strong man held my throat in an iron grip, and that the breath was being choked out of me. I pushed the sash up and let the wind and rain pour in on my hot brow, while I was struggling to fill my lungs. As soon as Harry finished reading the dispatch he let it fall to the floor, and his body went down with it. I saw him fall, but I was unable to go to his assistance; in fact, I never thought of offering aid; I was thinking of my own grief. CHAPTER XXIX. “Being so completely prostrated by the great mountain of grief that pressed heavily on my sad heart, I failed to notice the condition of Harry Wallingford, whose upturned face had put on a death-like expression. It was after several minutes had elapsed that I happened to look at him; I was considerably frightened when I beheld the ghost-like features. I ascertained, upon examination, that he had fainted; and also discovered a stream of blood flowing from his left temple, that came from an ugly wound caused by striking his head against the sharp corner of the seat as he fell. I dashed some cold water in his face, then lifted him from the floor and laid him on the seat, watching eagerly for signs of returning life, which I was gratified to see very soon. Fixing his eyes on me with a wild, restless expression, he said: “‘Is is true that Lottie is dead? How can you gaze on me with such a look of affection, Ed, when you know that by your kindness you are heaping coals of living fire on my unworthy head? If you would abuse me, curse me, spit on me, spurn me, or do anything to show that you despise me--I could bear it; but to receive disinterested kindness from one that I have so deeply wronged is a greater punishment than humanity can endure. You must remember that I have murdered Lottie, yes, I have closed those pretty blue eyes forever; I have pushed her fair body into the grave; I have invited the worms to banquet on her queenly form; I slapped you in the face, I drove Viola to desperation, and caused her to murder her little brother, and yet I am unhung, and you can look kindly on me! What kind of man are you? what sort of a heart is yours? why do you not plunge a dagger into my breast? Well, I suppose you think that you can kill me with kindness as well as any other way; and in that you are very correct. When I am dead, I want you to continue your kindness until you see my remains deposited by the side of my murdered sister. I know I don’t deserve such honor, but I may rely on your goodness to have my last request complied with.’