CHAPTER X.
We need not mourn for thee, here laid to rest; Earth is thy bed, and not thy grave; the skies Are for thy soul the cradle and the nest.
There live! TASSO.
Toward the close of November, on one of those bright warm days, when winter, as if in memory of the departed summer, puts by his blasts and snows, the Countess of Montfort was seated at the bedside of the Lady Margaret.

The countess, though in the bloom of health and youth, was sad and tearful.

The maiden, though her breath was short and difficult, wore a smile upon her lips.

The shadow of death was on her sunken temples, and had touched her quivering nostril and waxen ear, through which the light came as through porcelain.

Yet the eyes were closed, and the pale lips moved, and the wasted hands, embracing a crucifix, were joined in prayer.