sing a song of iron bitterness; a dying legacy to the sons of men. O! I cannot hold a pen within my grasp. I cannot see; all grows dark around me. So this is death.' There was a sickening gurgle in his throat as he fell back dead."
"Horrible! horrible!" said Connors, his heart full of fear and pity for this woman, so brave and strong.
"Heaven deliver me from such another experience," said Olivia. "I shall hear his wild laughter, the death rattle in his throat; shall behold his gleaming, glaring, glazed eye balls to my dying day."
"I may be considered uncharitable," said Connors, "but it is better that the world is rid of such a venomous spirit."
"That may be true, but you know, my dear Mr. Connors, that while he lay in that condition, one could not consider his character, only that he was a sufferer," said Olivia. "But did you ever see this great city in such a plight before?"
"Never," he replied. "I don't know what will become of us."
"One thing has happened, that almost makes me glad of our great calamity."
"In the name of Heaven," he said, "what can that be?"
"For the opportunity it has given Horatio Nugent to regain his good name."
"Indeed, you are right, and he has redeemed himself," he said. "How glad I am that you and I did not desert him in his hour of need."
"Just as a few years ago," said Olivia, "the world rang with the story of their shame, so now does it smile and bow over their heroic conduct."
