The air circulated through the room, bearing the odor of the woods, but for her it had no reviving power; it could not stay the beatings of her pulse, nor relieve the oppression of her panting bosom.

Oh! what beauty was about that bed of sickness.

The perfect shape of every feature, the graceful turn of the head, the luxuriant auburn hair, the contour of her rounded limbs.

There was no vacancy in her face.

Alas! visions of sorrow were passing in her mind.