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176 One of the singularly brilliant butterflies, with which the island abounded, had for some time been skimming about on its white and azure wings; at last it settled on the sick man's face; Frank rose to drive the insect away, and saw with terror the change of countenance which had taken place; his exclamation brought Marion from the adjoining room, whither she had been sent, lest her movements might disturb Michael's sleep. "He is dead, Marion—dead! He will never look at or speak to us again! We have lost our only friend!" The poor boy sat down on the wooden stool and sobbed; Marion began to cry too; and the evening closed upon their lamentations. The little girl was too young for sorrow and sleep not to be near comrades; her brother saw her weariness, gave her the usual supper of a piece of biscuit, and another of cocoa nut, and watched by her till she was fast asleep. He then returned to the room where Michael lay, and remembered his last injunctions, and prepared to obey them.

A wick, floating in a goblet of oil, gave a dim and wavering light, scarcely sufficient for Francis to perform his sorrowful business. Michael had died with almost the very words on his lips urging