Mark, you may daily expect the arrival of your mother," said Mrs. Lauderdale, looking up from the epistle. And then she told them of her invitation. Upon that very afternoon Mrs. Wells arrived. The meeting between herself and her son took place alone, by her request. It was not known what happened at that interview, except that she sobbed a long time on his shoulder, and that a full reconciliation ensued. To Rosalie her manner was very affectionate. But Rosalie, from the time of her reaching Fairplains, failed very fast. She now seldom left her easy chair by the western window. It was the pleasantest and most beautiful room in the house that had been assigned the invalid-a room occupying the first floor of a whole wing of the house, and with its east windows looking far out upon the green alluvion that stretched to the sandy beach of the distant gulf, and with its west windows opened upon a beautiful garden, beyond which spread fields reaching out to the dark pine forest that stood stately against the sunset sky. At this sunset window was her favourite afternoon seat; and here, with her friends grouped around her, she smiled and conversed as sweetly, as cheerfully, if more faintly, than ever; or here, with only her husband seated by her side, she would sit with her thin hand in his, looking into his eyes with such infinite, unutterable love and devotion, as though she would transfuse all her mind, and soul, and spirit into his being, to strengthen him for his life's trial and work. Every mail brought him piles of letters from his political friends and correspondents: but they lay unanswered, unopened. upon his secretary. Some times she would inquire about the prospects of the party; he could tell her little, he thought little, he cared little about it; and she would fix her mild eyes in mournful wonder upon him. Soon the pleasant seat by the sunset window was given up for the couch, and too soon the couch was left for the bed, from which she was never to rise again. Then it was, after her confinement to her bed, that they approached a subject that both had hitherto avoided discussing together-her dissolution. She still spoke to him of the good cause—the cause of justice, truth, and freedom. She implored him to let no individual sorrow draw him away from his labours of love to the whole race of man; rather to consecrate that sorrow to their service. And still she inquired about the prospects of his election to the Senate. She so much wished to see him in the possession of place and power before her death. "Not alone for your sake, dearest Mark," she still repeated; "not alone for your sake, but for the sake of humanity." "Oh, dearest Rosalie, why should I wish for success? When you have left me, what motive of action have I on earth?" "A motive higher than any my life could supply you with the service of God, the good of man." And all this time piles of accumulated and accumulating letters from political partisans lay unopened and unanswered, on his forsaken secretary. At last the day of death came-a clear, beautiful day, that, after the noontide glory, waned without a cloud. Rosalie lay sleeping on her bed; her pale gold hair, unconfined by a cap, lay floating on the pillow; her wan face was as white as the linen pillow-case against which it rested; her thin, blue-veined arm, uncovered from the loose muslin sleeve, was white as the counterpane upon which it lay. She slept calmly for a while, and then her bosom was agitated by a slight flutter; it came a second and a third time; and then, with a start and a gasp, she awoke, opened her eyes, and gazed wildly about for an instant; then her glance fell on Mrs. Wells, sitting watching by her bed-side. That lady arose, and, bending affectionately over the invalid, inquired "What do you want, dearest? Will you take your composing draught now?" The eyes of the death-stricken Rosalie softened into self-possession and quietness, and she answered faintly, "No, mother, not now. Where is Mark ?" "On the piazza, dear." "Sleeping?" "No; waiting for his darling to awake." "Send him to me, mother. I wish to see him alone." The lady stooped, and pressed a kiss upon the chill brow of the dying girl, and without suspicion went out; and in half a minute Mark stood over Rosalie. She raised her eyes, a little wild with the life-struggle, to his pale face. "My hour is come; I am going, dear Mark; I am going! Turn me over on my right side, facing you. Sit down by me, so that I can see you to the last! Hold my hand !" Agonised with grief, yet by a powerful will controlling his feelings, he raised her light form, and turned her as she desired. And then he wished to call assist ance; but with an imploring look and gesture she arrested his purpose, and said, "Useless, dear Mark! useless all. Oh! sit near me, where I can see you till the last, and so-part in peace sweetly." She lay upon her right side, with her face towards him, with her fair hair floating back upon the pillow, with her blue eyes raised with unspeakable love to his countenance, with her left hand lying helplessly over the white counterpane. He sunk down into the chair by her side; he took her chill hand in his own warm one; he gazed upon her dying face. And, as he gazed, a slight spasm agitated her fair throat, quivered over the sweet lips, and gave place to a heavenly smile. She sought to speak, but her words sank in quivering music-her eyes fixed upon his eyes-pouring their last light in streams of unutterable love into his soul-and so they remained, until the heavenly spirit left them dim in death. And still he sat gazing upon the dead face, holding the cold hand, until a noise in the piazza disturbed him, and words and tones of joy and triumph fell upon his ear and a familiar voice, asking "Where is Mark? where is he? I swore to be the first to congratulate him, and I'll do it! I will not be hindered, I tell you!" and in another instant Uncle Billy burst into the room, and, overjoyed, bewildered, blinded, rushed upon Mark, who had risen to prevent him, seized both his hands, exclaiming exultingly "Judge Sutherland, you are elected, sir! Sir, by an unprecedented vote! Allow me the honour of being the first to pay my respects to our Senator !" Mark Sutherland grasped his visitor's hand with overmastering force, and silently pointed to the still pale form upon the bed. Mr. Bolling drew nigh, in sudden awe and grief, and his heart almost stood still, as he inquired, with hushed tones "Dead?" "No!" replied Mark Sutherland, reverently,"IMMORTAL!" CHAPTER XXXIV. "TAKE UP THE BURTHEN OF LIFE AGAIN." "Blaspheme not thou thy sacred life, nor turn Perchance to try thy spirit and its bezt, "Art thou already weary of the way Thou who hast yet but half the way gone o'er? Get up and lift thy burthen; lo, before Thy feet the road goes stretching far away."-Fanny Kemble. О life! Oh world and worldly honour! how poor and vain, how worthless and worse than worthless, how bitterly mocking do ye seem in the presence of death, the death of the best-beloved! What now to him was his political victory? what the success of his party? the cause of the country? aye, of the world, or of humanity? Nothing, and less than nothing! if that could be. He had called her "immortal"-making what stand he could against |