some of the happiest moments of her life. No longer the voice of content, pleasure, and gaiety breathed in the enlivening glee or spontaneous laugh; no sound of former merriment meets her ear; all within is silent, still, and sad. She is shown by a servant, whose countenance wears the aspect of sorrow, into that parlour where the family had been wont to assemble, and greet her with the tones of welcome. What a foreboding contrast! no one was then visible! She seats herself in melancholy expectation of the coming of Mrs. Philimore, who, upon entering, extends her hand as usual, and though clouded by grief, kindness beams from her countenance.
After a painful pause, Oriana tremblingly asks after the invalid. The mother's reply faithfully portrayed the real state of her son, and extinguished every hope of his recovery; the doubt being only as to whether the awful summons were near or distant.
Oriana felt influenced by the strongest desire once again to behold Philimore; and yet she scarcely dared suggest the wish. The mother, as if by intuitive anticipation, said in rising, "I will tell Edmund you are here; it might cheer and revive him to behold one whom—" but without stopping to finish her speech she retired, and the agitation of Oriana redoubled at every instant.
Might there exist a possibility of refusal she dreaded to think of. Contrary, however, to this suggestion which had obtruded itself, Mrs. Philimore advanced to meet her, and, with a smile of satisfac-
