creations even now rush over me!—but, no, no!—I am dying!—I shall write no more!" and his voice sunk, as he gasped for breath: "and she," murmured he, after a long pause, "whom I have so idolised—a thousand hearts beat at the tender sorrow of which she was the inspiration! yet she will never know how utterly she has been beloved. Even now her sweet face swims before me; methinks that I would give worlds to gaze upon it once again; to carry the image into eternity with me!"
A peculiar expression crossed Lavinia's face, and she rose from her seat; her movement recalled Walter from his temporary abstraction.
"You are not going yet?" asked he; for now he clung, like a sick child, to the presence of his kind attendant.
"I am going," replied she, "earlier to-day, that I may come back the sooner; the rehearsal will be very short; and now, dear Walter, try and compose yourself."
"You are very, very kind," said he, in
