I knew not when I returned to the house.

I have forgotten that.

But I remember standing that night over a still, immovable form, on whose pale, peaceful brow, those purplish spots, of which I had heard in awful whispers, were distinctly visible.

The tossing arms were crossed reposingly over the pulseless bosom,--the restless limbs were rigid as stone.

I remember seeing my mother, whom they tried to lead into another chamber,--my mother, usually so calm and placid,--throw herself wildly on that humble, fever-blasted form, and cling to it in an agony of despair.