For the first time since the night of his engagement with Ella Campbell, Henry was this morning free from intoxicating drinks.

He had heard them say that Rose must die, but it had seemed to him like an unpleasant dream, from which he now awoke to find it a reality.

They had brought her down from her chamber, and laid her upon the sofa in the parlor, where Henry came unexpectedly upon her.

He had not seen her for several days, and when he found her lying there so pale and still, her long eyelashes resting heavily upon her colorless cheek, and her small white hands hanging listlessly by her side, he softly approached her thinking her asleep, kissed her brow, cheek and lips, whispering as he did so, "Poor girl! poor Rosa! so young and beautiful." Rose started, and wiping from her forehead the tear her brother had left there, she looked anxiously around.

Henry was gone, but his words had awakened in her mind a new and startling idea.