Part 22 (1/2)

She tried to raise an ebony cross hung round her neck.

In the effort, her features became convulsed--and George heard a low gurgling in the throat, as from suffocation.

Ah! that awful precursor of ”the first dark hour of nothingness.”

George Delme sprang to his feet, and was supporting her head, when the physician grasped his arm.

”Stop! stop! you are preventing”----

The lower lip quivered--and drooped--slightly! very slightly!

The head fell back.

One long deep drawn sigh shook the exhausted frame.

The face seemed to become fixed.

Doctor Pormont extended his hand, and silently closed those dark fringed lids.

The cold finger, with its harsh touch, once more brought consciousness.

Once more the lid trembled! there was an upward glance that looked reproachful!

Another short sigh! Another!

l.u.s.treless and glaring was that once bright eye!

Again the physician extended his hand.

”a.s.suredly, gentlemen! vitality hath departed!”

A deep--solemn--awful silence--which not a breath disturbed--came over that chamber of death.

It seemed as if the insects had ceased their hum--that twilight had suddenly turned to night--that an odour, as of clay, was floating around them, and impregnating the very atmosphere.

George took the guitar, whose chords were never more to be woke to harmony by that loved hand, and dashed it to the ground.

Ere Delme could clasp him, he had staggered to the bedside--and fallen over Acme's still form.

And did her frame thrill with rapture? did she bound to his caress? did her lip falter from her grateful emotion?--did she bury his cheek in her raven tresses?

No, no! still--still--still were all these! still as death!

Chapter IV.

Rome.

”Woe unto us, not her; for she sleeps well.”