over which it fell; the walls were only whitewashed, the whiteness long since obscured by dust and smoke, and broken away in many places. The bare boards looked as if they had not been scoured for months; and a deal table, and two rickety chairs, were all the furniture, except the miserable pallet on which Walter Maynard lay dying; and this was the end of his impassioned hopes, and of his early and glorious dreams!
The change that a few weeks had wrought in him was awful: the features were almost transparent, and with a strange beauty, like a spirit's; and yet with that look which belongs to death, and death only. He was awake, feverish, and restless; and the clear, shining eyes had that sort of fixed brilliancy, which life, even in its brightest moments, never gave. The door opened so softly, that even he did not hear it. Lavinia looked in; and, seeing that he was already roused, entered with his coffee; it was the only thing for which he retained the slightest liking: perhaps there was some lingering association with the pur-
