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 "Oh, Sylvia! not that; anything but that. I cannot bear it now!"

"Dear heart, be patient; lean on me, and let me help you bear it, for it is inevitable."

"It shall not be! There must be some help, some hope. God would not be so pitiless as to take both."

"I shall not leave you yet. He does not take me; it is I, who, by wasting life, have lost the right to live."

"But is it so? I cannot make it true. You look so beautiful, so blooming, and the future seemed so sure. Sylvia, show it to me, if it must be."

She only turned her face to him, only held up her transparent hand, and let him read the heavy truth. He did so, for now he saw that the beauty and the bloom were transitory as the glow of leaves that frost makes fairest as they fall, and felt the full significance of the great change which had come. He clung to her with a desperate yet despairing hold, and she could only let the first passion of his grief have way, soothing and sustaining, while her heart bled and the draught was very bitter to her lips.

"Hush, love; be quiet for a little; and when you can bear it better, I will tell you how it is with me."

"Tell me now; let me hear everything at once. When did you know? How are you sure? Why keep it from me all this time?"

"I have only known it for a little while, but I am very sure, and I kept it from you that you might come happily home, for knowledge of it would have lengthened every mile, and made the journey one long anxiety. I could not know that Adam would go first, and so make my task doubly hard."

"Come to me, Sylvia; let me keep you while I may. I