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278 her parched lips. And trembling as I listened, J wiped away tkn heavy dew from her dying brow, and supported her emaciated frame in my arms, when on a sudden, she called wildly on the Mar quis to draw near, and cried aloud in a hoarse voice that she must not die till all should be accomplished. ‘ ‘1 cannot go hence,’ said she, ’till jus tiee has been done. A secret lies heavy on my sou!—to weigh me down to des truction. My husband will curse me in my last moments — my children will loathe me in the grave—yet, behold, my task must be fulfilled.’ .‘‘No, no, no! 1 ejaculated Monsieur de tion, and willing to consterna words ot his wife to delirious excitement. ‘You are destroying yourself by this vio lence. Tranquilize your nerves by a night’s rest. The Cure of Icart has been sent for, and in the morning, the spir itual consolations of the Church will restore you to a happier frame of mind.’ ‘He shall seek me !n the morning and he shall not find me,’ answered the Mar chioness in a wild but solemn voice. ‘But tell him that if I died unblessed by the sacraments of grace, it was that I held myself unworthy to approach them in my struggle with death; although, if earthly penance may avail in the sight ot the Most High, tor years and years 1 have neither stirred nor rested, save with the remembrance of my sin before my eves.’ ‘lf not in mercy to yourself,—in pity to me, —desist! 1 cried the poor Marquis, covering his face with his hands. ‘Nay !’ replied the dying penitent, in a tone hoarse w ith the near approach of death; ‘I have deferred my confessions too Jong already. Husband, my eyes are dim, and I behold your face no longer,— Children, my hands are cold as the cold of the valley, and your embraces must be mine no more. Grant me only a word of pity, a word of pity,—a word of par don !’ ‘Mighty heaven!’—cried Ma’mselle So phie, almost distracted, ‘restore her to herself! She raves !’ ‘Oh ! no, no. lam not raving,’ faltered Marchioness. ‘With the full and perfect possession of my faculties, 1 avow that one of the daughters now weeping be side me is not the of spring of my hus band. ‘A thunderbolt falling into the chamber of death could not have produced a more startling sensation. The horror of the announcement burst at nrv-o upon the minds of the girls. One of them, then, was in alien. One of them was about to be cast forth ! One of them on the verge of orphanhood ! Involuntarily the three sisters precipitated themselves at the feet SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. of him whom each still trusted might be her father. The words resounded in their ears, —One of them is not the offspring of my husband ! ‘Oh! do not say it is 1! Mother, mother! say not, say not, that it is 1 !’ —cried Sophie, writhing with agony. ‘We have been so happy together !’ ejaculated Claire, embracing both her sis ters; ‘and must we part at last!’ —while Antoinette, pale as her dying mother, was unable to utter a syllable; but kept convulsively kissing the hand of the Mar quis, as it a sentence of illegitimacy would prove to her young heart a sen tence of death. ‘And since 1 must die with.the. hwmd <-r j uruw,’ adu’ed the dy ing woman, ‘let me at least atone the injury I have inflicted by a (inal act of justice.’ ‘Not another word !’—cried Monsieur de St. Sauveur, advancing solemnly towards the bedside; ‘such atonement were a deeper injury. 1 have loved—l love these children as my own. J can not spare the one of which you would deprive me. 1 have heard too m ch— I wish to hear no more! —You have robbed me of my tenderness of the w ife of my youth; bereave me not ot one of my beloved girls !’ ‘The sisters sprang at once into his arms ! They bathed him with their tears, —they clung to the heart, the gen erous heart of that best of men; and lo ! a flush of indescribable joy lighted up the countenance of the guilty mother, whom for a moment they had forgotten. ‘1 die content!’—she faltered, laying her poor head upon my shoulders. ‘The innocent one will not be driven forth to perish- Blessings on him —blessings on them I die content.’ ‘Loudly, at that moment, did 1 call upon the Marquis t*, extend his hand to her in token of forgiveness, for 1 saw that her spirit was passing away. And after a moment’s pause, he did so; but the concession came too late. She was gone ! she was at rest! Yet I would have given much that her dying ears had caught the parting adjuration of her husband : ‘Thy sins be forgiven thee above, as I have truly and freely forgiven them ! Vade in paced * * * * -* * ‘A few hours afterwards, as the morn ing sun broke into the ehamber, and shone upon the corpse, a smile dawmed on the dead face of the marchioness, as though her triumph over her misery was accomplished ; as though she had sur mounted the ordeal ; as though the su preme Creator, who had fostered her repentance and perfected her expiation, had received her into the number of his elect.’ ‘And think you that the marquis had strength of mind to inquire no further 1 ?’ said Captain R mistrustfully. ‘He was a man of honour, sir,’ said the widow reproachfully; and he was a] Christian ; and before the remains of his wife were cold, he proceeded, in my pre sence, to consign to the flames every paper and memorandum she had left ; peradventure lest, in a moment of human frailty, he might be tempted to do that which years of repentance could not avail to efface. He had mourned for her as for a wife whom he had loved ; he was the best of fathers to her chi Id ■en ; and if the blow, which had thus cruelly and unexpectedly fallen upon him, tended to llOi - tulC.l Ulti COllSOicillOn of having fulfilled a heavy duty/ ‘And did you never discover,’ resumed Mauame Le Tellier’s |piest, ‘which of the three daughters was the one to whom the generosity of the marquis was in truth available V ‘Far be it from me to have made ihe attempt!’ said the good widow. ‘Yet methinks no one who witnessed, or hath heard speak of the conduct of the mar chioness, need entertain a doubt upon the subject. Think you, that a woman of such depth of feeling would have borne a child unto her husband, after having once stooped to shame?’ ‘lt was Antoinette, then,’ said Captain R musingly ; ‘the youngest’ — ‘The youngest and best beloved, the especial favourite of the house ; she who, thanks to the glorious goodness of Mon sieur de St. Sauveur, is about to share the fortunes of her sisters; having al ready become the wife of an honourable mn, whose haughty family would as suredly have rejected the alliance of a nameless alien/ ‘You are right, Madame Le Tellier,’ cried the Eng!i>h gentleman, as if reluc tantly convinced. ‘Your departed friend was indeed a great man ; for who so mighty as he who accomplishes the subjugation of a power ful human passion? 1 fully sympathize in your respect towards such a man,’ continued he, tossing off the cup of spiced Bordeaux which Marion had placed, mean while, on the table by his side; ‘1 re joice with you that your friend, your marquis, your whoever or whatever he may be, was restored to his native country, and died in the enjoyment of his estates/ ‘And blessed in the happy prospects of his grateful children !’ added the widow, motioning her niece to withdraw her chair from the hearth, and aid her in re tiring to rest. ‘And now, young gentle man, good night, and happier dreams to you than rnv narrative, l fear, is likely to excite. Visit us again with my nephew in a week or twm, and Aucel’s arrival at St. Medard shall be the signal for anew [December 18,