solution to Lucy, and then left us. Roskelly had gone away, saying that he could do nothing. The people of San Fernando came and hung my large dressing-room with black cloth and silver lacings. The "Esattore" looked at Agnes on her bed and exclaimed, “How beautiful she must have been !" They wished to place her on a raised stage in the Chapelle Ardente in a gold shell of a coffin which they had brought into the room where she lay. I called in my wife to help me to place her in it. She was attending on Lucy, and said she ought not to leave the living for the dead. Mrs. Sells and I and Tommaso, our butler, lifted her into the shell, and carried her into the chapel. The numerous lighted candles made a blaze of light, and the room was very hot.

The man of whom the curate had ordered the coffin, brought it into the chapel. I felt that the body ought to be enclosed; and he and I and Tommaso laid her in it. I sent him away. Then, with Tommaso, I filled up the coffin, which was made much too large, with wool and maize leaves from the mattrass; covered the whole with half of a large sheet; and closed and locked the two locks of my treasure-for coffins at Naples are made

with hinges, and are fastened with two locks instead of with screws.

At seven o'clock in the evening, Lucy's teeth parted, and she was able to swallow a little quinine. She seemed better. Again we had hopes. She still lay motionless and speechless, but we thought she was sensible: every now and then heaving a deep, a very deep, breath or sigh from her lower chest. I repeated the exclamation

"Gesu! Giuseppe! Maria!

Vi dono l'anima mia,"

in Italian as I bent over her pillow, and she seemed to understand, and to be pleased. My wife advised that we should say the usual prayers for the dying; and she and I and Louie knelt while I read portions of them. Evidently she now understood, and was gratified. But her strength was failing. We sent for Roskelly, who came. Mrs. Corbyan old English monthly nurse-was also in the house. Dear Lucy partly raised herself and tried to speak for the first time since Sunday. could not understand what she said. still; and for a minute, we all thought she had expired. I had rested my head on my hand, and grieved to have thus lost her last sigh. But again and slowly, she turned her face towards me, and

We

She lay

opened her eyes-wide-wider. She gave me such a piercing look! I was terrified. "Is it meant as a warning?-as a threat?" I thought. But no: it changed into a look of perfect intelligence, of unutterable happiness, rapture, and love. My wife, who stood on the other side of the bed, says that at the same moment she pressed her hand. No one had ever seen such a look-so continued, so loving, so expressive, so beautiful. She gently half opened her mouth as if again to attempt to speak; and a smile passed over her lips. Beautiful as she had ever been, she never looked more bright, more intelligent, more full of life, than at that moment. And, while looking thus, without a groan, without a struggle, without a sigh, her spirit passed away. She did not seem to die:

she passed away.

I tried to close her eyes, but the lids would not come quite down. We beckoned to the servants, who had been gazing at the door. Paul, the coachman, came and knelt at the foot of the bed. Mrs. Corby, who had been present, said she had never seen so beautiful a look, so beautiful a death.

It was just past nine o'clock. Within twentyseven hours, she had followed Agnes.

Again my wife and Mrs. Sells were closeted

with the dead, and, without other help, laid her out. Her teeth were again firmly locked, but they bound a kerchief under her chin lest they should again open. We placed her in the gilded shell from which we had moved Agnes two hours before.

And now it was all done and my wife and I and Louie, who had, from the beginning, dedicated herself to the care of Bruno-we drew together in the drawing-room, and took some food. I did not think it safe for us to sleep in either of the rooms on each side of my dressing-room-now the mortuary chapel in which Agnes lay. Our mattrass was brought, and laid upon the floor of the blue drawing-room, and Louie's on that of the yellow. Elmina lay there also on another. Worn out and broken-hearted, we all lay down.

CHAPTER X.

THE END.

Preparations. The poor of St. Januarius.-The Corso.—The Confraternity.The Funeral.-Lucy lay well. The strange blood-stain.-Again the poor of St. Januarius.Again the Confraternity.-Again the Funeral.-The Prophetic Dream.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 17. The San Fernando people took the measure for Lucy's coffin, and the curate with the carpenter came for payment of the one he had made for Agnes. In the absence of Mr. Chandler, the American Minister, I sent for Mr. Walshe, the Secretary of his Legation, and Cav. Volpicella, and asked the former to pray Mrs. Levi-the wife of the captain of the Macedonian, and who lived in the same house-and the latter to ask some Italian female relation of his own to come with them and represent the family by receiving the confraternity in my house and in the church for such I had learned to be the custom at Naples. They both kindly assented. Afterwards Mr. Walshe wrote to me that Mrs. Levi could not

VOL. II.

7