some minutes Isidore, her husband, the graceful, the gifted, the triumphant Isidore, who but a few months before had won her hand from a host of rivals, stood at the entrance of the apartment. Could it be he? Was it not rather some spectral shape "From her o'er fever'd brain Wrought out by its excess of pain?" His brow, that lofty and resplendent brow, which beamed so lately with pride and happiness, was ghastly as if the finger of death already had passed over it; his respiration was quick and audible; his whole appearance that of one fast sinking beneath the influence of some fatal malady. He leaned for a few moments against the pillar of the open door, as if unable longer to support the weight of his own frame, and then slowly and painfully advancing to the couch of Geneora, he threw himself at her feet. She betrayed neither emotion nor surprise as she raised her eyes and looked on him. "Geneora," he said, "I am come to thy feet to die; some strange fever has assailed my life; already my strength is gone; see, I am powerless even as a child; but I have sought thee in my suffering, that I might confess to thee my errors and my remorse, and implore from thy lips my pardon ere I expire. Speak to me ! say thou dost forgive! sooth me with thy pity, if thou dost refuse thy tenderness; let my spirit depart at least with the hope that thou hatest me not utterly." Why," she replied, "hast thou come here to die, when thou hadst so well learned to live without me?" "Geneora, what a moment for reproach! I have deserved it; but, oh, spare me now, now, when our final separation is so near. Give me thy hand-feel how icy is mine; touch my cold forehead, it is damp with the dew of agony; the beating of my heart is almost over, it will soon be stilled for ever: I have wronged thee, deeply wronged thee; but, as thou dost trust in Heaven, as thou dost hope for mercy, deny not thy pardon to one so near the tomb." “Thy death will not avenge me!" she said, with the same unmoved and passionless accent. 'Oh, God, it is too dreadful! Geneora, how art thou changed; thou who wert so tender, so gentle : but it is my work; yet madden me not with this horrible calmness. I dare not think on all thou must have suffered ere thy nature could alter thus: yet hear me! I swear to thee by the cross that is above us, but to which I have no power to raise my arm, that I have never ceased to love thee; never been unmindful of thy tears, even when most I yielded to the witchery which caused them to flow; every pure feeling of my soul has been vowed to thee; and in the wildest delirium of pleasure I have cursed myself for my base requital of thy devoted, but ill bestowed affection. It is no longer time for atonement, but reject not my repentance." "Has she beheld thy suffering? has her cheek blenched to-night at the sight of thine ?" "Yes, even there thou art avenged, avenged beyond thy wishes: her tears, her anguish withheld me not from thee; thy name was my only answer to her phrensied supplications for my stay; she knelt to me in vain; I prayed but to hear thy voice, to see thy face again. I am here: Oh, be not still inexorable; weep for thine early widowhood; breathe to me one word of peace ere it be too late." She saw that his life was fleeting fast; she bade him rise, and assisted to place him on the couch she had quitted; then, turning from him to a small ebony · table which stood by, she swallowed hastily the contents of a crystal cup which was upon it. She took his miniature, which she had never worn since she became convinced of his infidelity, and placed it round her neck. She returned to his side: her manner was entirely changed; she was no longer pale ; there was the same sweet smile on her lip, the same look of inexpressible tenderness in her eyes as she had worn in the earlier days of their union. She threw herself beside him, she clasped his cold hand in hers, she encircled his head with her beautiful arm, and drew it affectionately to her bosom; she pressed her lips to his forehead, "Yes, I forgive thee, my heart's own love," she said; "" I forgive thee! now thou art mine-all mine own again." Geneora," he faintly asked, "what is the draught which thou hast just drunk so eagerly?" She drew him closer to "I could die for thee, with thee, but I could not live and know that thy love was another's; I could not even die while I knew this. Say, canst thou pardon the act by which we perish?" "Yes," he answered, "Yes, I pardon; but so young-" it was all he could reply: his senses failed him; but while a gleam of consciousness remained, he heard the last words uttered by Geneora, "I am happy-it is sweet to die thus." 1 Ere the lamps, whose glowing rays fell over them, grew pale in the light of morning, both were dead. Geneora had stirred not; the head of Isidore was still pillowed on her breast, still encircled by the white arm which had been to him "So fond, but yet so fatal." THE STORM. BY JOHN C. MERCIER, ESQ. SEE the threatening clouds o'erhead Hardly breathes the sinking gale, Lo! the lightning's vivid blaze |