They were gone, and a gloom like that of the grave fell on everything in that room. While Jessie Lee lay cold and insensible on my bosom, smitten to the heart by her father's denunciation, Mrs. Dennison took the letter from Mr. Lee and read it from end to end. After that she uttered some words which I did not understand--for the cold head upon my bosom had frozen up my faculties--and went her way from the room, and oh! thank my God! from our presence, I prayed inly, forever and ever. I do not know when or how Mr. Lee left the room, but I was alone with Jessie, and she dead, for the moment, as if in her winding-sheet. I had no strength to lift her, or remove her from the room, but I laid her gently on the carpet, and, taking the crimson pillows from a couch, rested her head upon them. All this had been done with great quietness; no unusually loud word had been spoken during that terrible scene--not a soul in the house, except us four, knew that anything had happened. Striving to subdue my agitation, I went up-stairs in search of restoratives. The crystal flasks in poor Mrs. Lee's chamber had never been emptied of their contents, so I went there hoping to find something that would bring the stricken girl out of her deathly sleep. The room was dim, but filled with the breath of flowers, as it had been in its owner's life-time. Every article of furniture was in its old place. The white bed gleamed out from the twilight of the apartment like a snow-bank; the soft lace curtains covered the windows, flowing down beneath the silken over-curtains like ripples of falling sleet. Everything was so natural, so almost holy in its stillness, that even in the terrible anxiety that filled my soul, I felt like falling down by the bed and praying that sainted one to help me save her child. A wild petition did spring to my lips; but it was a time for action; so, snatching a flask from the dressing-table, I was turning to leave the room, when Lottie arose from a stool, at the foot of Mrs. Lee's easy-chair, and stood before me like a ghost. "What are you doing here, Miss Hyde?" she said, in a whisper. "She does not like people to come to her room." I held up the flask and was going on; but she seized it between both hands. "It is for Miss Jessie--for her child--she is ill." The girl's hands dropped. "Take it--take it," she said, and followed me from the room. When Lottie saw her young mistress lying so still and marble-like on the floor, a cry of anguish broke from her. "Oh! my poor, poor lady! how much she looks like her--how much she looks like her!" Jessie came to at last: that is, she breathed again, and her eyes opened; but this was all. She had no strength, and all the rich, young life that made her so beautiful had left her frame.