CHAPTER XVI.
THROUGH THE DAY.
It was a glorious morning.

The wind had fallen quite, and the sun was shining as if he would say, "Keep up your hearts; I am up here still.

I have not forgotten you.

By and by you shall see more of me." But Nature lay dead, with a great white sheet cast over face and form.

Not dead ?--Just as much dead as ever was man, save for the inner death with which he kills himself, and which she cannot die.