arm-chair, when, missing her shawl, which she had dropped while holding out her hand for the bracelet, she desired her maid to fetch it, as she was cold. On the attendant's return, which was delayed by some trifling accident, she was surprised to see that her lady's head had fallen on one side, and one hand had dropped nearly to the ground, her weight supported only by the arm of the chair: she hurried forward, and the first look on the face was enough—it was deadly pale, and the features set, as if by some sudden contraction.
Assistance was soon procured—but in vain; and Mr. Delawarr, who had himself been the first to enter, and had carried her to the sofa in her dressing-room, heard the physician pronounce that to be death, where there had been no thought of even danger. There she lay—so quiet, and looking so beautiful—for, to a face whose outline was perfect as a statue, the repose of utter stillness rather added to than diminished its beauty—the rich hair ornamented with gold flowers—the diamond necklace, catching the various colours of the room, and casting them on the neck—the slender fingers, so cold, so stiff, but glistening with gems—the crimson dress, whose contrast now
