"Never!"

"By Heaven, then, I will make you."

Tightening his clasp about her with one arm, with the other he drew a pistol from his side-pocket, and presented it at her forehead.

"How now?"

"Oh, Bernard, is this the sacred charge that Della left you?"

"Do you give up?"

"No, no! with my latest breath, no!"

"Then I shall fire."

"Fire, then! here is my heart, fire! I would sooner die a thousand deaths, than have my mistress think I was so base a thing as you would make me. You never shall dishonor her while Minny has power to prevent it."

Surely a demon had crept into Bernard's heart, as he stood an instant, with fascinated eye, gazing on the young girl, as she knelt in all her fearful beauty before him. He seemed to have lost entirely all control over himself, and with excited mien listened to the echo of those last words. It was but a second's pause, yet it embraced an eternity; the fatal trigger was drawn, by an impulse he could not withstand, and Minny fell backward on the floor, with her long curls falling round her like a pall.

The ball had entered just beneath her chin, glanced, and lodged in her right side. It was a most ghastly wound, and as the blood poured from it, over the snow-white dress, and trickled slowly along the floor, Bernard stood gazing upon it like one petrified. His eyes opened wide with horror, his limbs grew rigid, his very hair seemed to rise up, in the intense agony of the moment. The pistol dropped from his extended hand, and he fell upon his knees beside his victim, completely sobered, and awakened to the full magnitude of the crime he had committed.

"Oh, Minny, Minny! I have been the curse of your life-time; a shadow, mingling with all your sunlight; fearful, fearful is the retribution cast from your dying spirit upon mine. Forgive me, oh, forgive me!"

Suddenly, with the last remnant of strength gathered to speak once more, her small hands were raised convulsively, and placed in Bernard's, while her dark eyes, softened, and even more beautiful in their death-hour than ever before, sought his face.

"God forgive you, Bernard, as I this moment forgive you _all, all_. To your wife, Bernard, your Della, henceforth be faithful; be true to her, love her, cherish her, guard her as your life. Do this, and the shadow of this hour will rest ever on your heart holily."

"I promise; as God hears me, I promise."

There was a faint pressure from the hand he held, the lips moved, but gave out no sound, and Bernard sat alone in the chamber of death, clasping in his own the cold hands of the murdered Minny!

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

"Adversity, sage, useful guest, Severe instructor, but the best; It is from thee alone, we know Justly to value things below."

Somerville.

Roused at last from the stupor in which he fallen, Wilkins rose from the floor, and taking his infant son in his arms, went out and told the neighbors what had occurred. Leaving his child with a friend living near by, he next went in search of a coroner, and returned with him to the house. All this Bernard did calmly, quietly, almost like one in a dream, with no thought for his own safety, no idea of danger to himself. The coroner was a gentleman well known to Bernard, acquainted with both the good and bad traits of his nature. In looking upon the corpse he readily understood the whole matter, and pitied the unfortunate murderer, even more than the beautiful victim.

A jury was summoned, and the verdict returned was: "Died by the _accidental_ discharge of a pistol, in the hands of Bernard Wilkins."

The sincere and unaffected sorrow which Bernard evinced, served to corroborate this statement, and if any _guessed_, none _knew_, the real truth.

Della was sent for, and came hastily. Though almost overwhelmed at the terrible death of her favorite, she spoke no word of reproach, uttered no sentence of reproof, to that husband, who, it was plainly evident, suffered immeasurably. Della's own hands prepared Minny's body for the tomb. She robed her in one of her own dresses--an India mull, of spotless white, and folded the tiny hands below the exquisite bust, clasping a few pale flowers. The fatal ball had left the face uninjured, and the wound beneath her chin was skillfully concealed. The eyes were closed perfectly and naturally. The lips, yet red and full, slightly parted over the pearly teeth, as if with a smile, and the long black curls floated gracefully down the fair neck and bosom. To have looked upon her, one would have deemed her sleeping. As long as it was possible, Della kept the body unentombed. The news of the fearful death had spread over a goodly portion of the city, and hundreds came to look upon the corpse, and turned away with wet cheeks, declaring it the loveliest sight they had ever looked upon.

The day of burial arrived at last, and, bending over the coffin, Della, with raining tears, pressed her lips for the last time upon the brow of that being, who had been faithful to her, even to death. The long concourse moved slowly away. Guly walked at Wilkins' side. As the boy glanced upon that pale face once more, before the tomb closed upon it for ever, the memory of the first time he ever saw her, came back upon his mind--the time when, with the wild glitter in her eye, he had seen her strike Wilkins that fearful blow, and rush shudderingly past him into the darkness.

On returning from the cemetery, Wilkins found General Delville's carriage at the door, and its owner within, conversing with his wife.

She had not gone out to the burial on account of her child, who was not well. The General seemed overjoyed to find Della the happy wife and mother, which, under such sad circumstances, she appeared. He told them how eagerly he had searched the city over, in the hopes of finding them, since their marriage, but had signally failed, until the papers, in recording the fearful event which had just passed, had given him some clue to their whereabouts, which he had immediately followed up.

"I am now," said he, "on the eve of starting for Europe. America has no tie of kindred for me; I've not a relative living in all this broad land, and I shall launch myself upon the waves of the Atlantic to-morrow, no doubt for the last time, before sinking into the vast ocean of eternity, whose waves are ever loudly beating on the shores of time. I hope to end my days on classic ground; and to have my grave swept by those breezes which have fanned the brows of the great masters, whose works I have loved. Thus, I shall die happy. Sometimes," said he, taking Della's hand, and smiling upon her the same smile which had so lightened her heart months before, "sometimes give a thought to the old man, whose bones will drop to dust in foreign lands, but who, to the latest hour of his existence, will cherish his love and fond remembrance of you."

With one more earnest pressure of the hand, he bade them farewell; and with sad hearts, Della and her husband waved back his last adieu, and saw him pass from their sight, for the last time, for ever. Upon turning to re-enter the house, a folded paper, lying on the table where the General's hat had stood, attracted Della's attention. She found it directed to herself, and upon opening it found it contained a check for one hundred thousand dollars, upon one of the city banks, left for her as a parting gift from him, who, though he could not be her husband, had proved himself her friend.

"Oh, Bernard!" exclaimed Della, as she realized the fortune which had so unexpectedly fallen to her lot; "let us at once leave this place. We have no friends here. My parents, who have disowned me, I haven't even the claim of love upon; and there are no ties, save Minny's grave, and the friendship of a few constant hearts, to bind us here. These, sooner or later, must be broken at last, and I would rather seek some home, wherein to spend the residue of our days, free from the sad associations which cluster here."

To this proposition Bernard consented; and immediate preparations were made to depart for the Isle of Cuba, that gem of the Antilles, whose sparkling lustre has won the admiration of the world.

Before their departure, Della caused a marble tomb to be erected over Minny's remains. The design was simple and elegant, and the marble as pure as the cold young heart it covered. It bore the simple inscription:--

"MY SISTER."

Della proposed to Bernard, now that they were so abundantly able, to offer a home to the friendless Blanche, and let her be as a sister to them. Accompanied by Guly, who was still Wilkins' warmest friend, they went to the little house, to offer this proposition to the beautiful brodeuse. To the utter astonishment of all, and to Guly's chagrin and despair, they found the house deserted, the door closed, and the familiar card, "_To Let_," swinging from the upper balcony. Blanche was gone, none knew whither.

Della and Bernard waited several days, in the hope of hearing something of their young friend; but thwarted in their generous desire, they at last left the city, bidding an affectionate farewell to Guly, who stood upon the levee, watching the departing vessel, bearing away those true and tried friends, till lost to his aching sight.

They bought a delightful country residence, near the city of Havana, and established themselves there, in the heart of a pleasant neighborhood, and were soon surrounded by warm and faithful friends. Bernard Wilkins became an altered man. His habits of dissipation were broken for ever; and he remained a faithful husband and happy father. Thus, performing his promises to the dying Minny, her departing words were fulfilled; and the shadow of her last hour rested on his heart ever holily--holily!

CHAPTER XXXIX.

"And there we shall have our feasts of tears, And many a cup in silence pour; Our guests, the shades of former years, Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more."

Tom Moore.

Weeks passed away, and Guly, in spite of all his earnest endeavors, heard nothing more of Blanche. A strange mystery seemed, as it were, suddenly to have swallowed her up, and left no trace. Summer came again, and brought with it one of those fearful epidemics so frequent in that ill-fated city. Cholera was spreading itself broad-cast among rich and poor, the humble and the high alike. Hundreds were weekly being swept into their yawning tombs, and it seemed as if the city most surely must be devastated. Nurses could not be procured to care for the sick; and the dead-carts went gloomily through the silent streets, groaning beneath their fearful load of death, all the day long, while the grave-yards yawned constantly, as though their hunger never could be appeased.

Several of Mr. Delancey's clerks had died, and others had fled the pestilence, but Arthur and Guly still remained; the one, in order to gain enough to carry on his career of dissipation, the other, from a high sense of duty, which, though in the midst of danger, kept him faithful to his post. Mr. Delancey had been more lenient with Arthur than with any other clerk of like character he had ever had. Although he could not but note in his countenance the course he was pursuing, he forbore to dismiss him, and the brothers still lived, side by side, beneath the same roof.

Though his receipts were spent in debauchery, Arthur managed, as a general thing, to fill his place through the day faithfully; and since the sudden demise of clerks in the establishment, it had become absolutely necessary.

But one morning, Guly noticed that Arthur looked pale, and suffering, though resolutely remaining on duty. Alarmed lest he should be taken with the prevalent disease, to which his habits rendered him peculiarly liable, Guly questioned him, and finding that he was really unwell, turned to his employer, and said:--

"Mr. Delancey, Arthur is too ill to remain longer in his place; he must give up until he can get better. He has remained here too long this morning already, with the symptoms of cholera about him."

"Well, he's a fool for that," muttered the merchant, in reply, with much of his old manner; "I should suppose he was old enough to know that he must give up when he's sick. I'd whip a negro of mine that worked round, and didn't tell when he was sick. Let him lie down here in your room."

It was the old room which Wilkins used to occupy; and Arthur, every moment growing worse, hastened thither, and threw himself upon the bed.

Guly immediately sent for a physician, and put aside all his business, to attend upon his sick brother. Slowly the hours went by. Everything that could be done was done, and, in fearful anxiety, Guly hung over the form of that brother--now, in this dark moment, forgiving him all his sins and unkindness, and loving him, oh! how tenderly!

The sun went down, and Guly had no brother! In fearful agony he had yielded up his strong spirit, and now lay pale and still in the fond arms which encircled him. The dead-cart stood waiting at the door, and with tears, which he did not struggle to repress, Guly saw the corpse robed in the habiliments of death, and placed within the coffin. Those were times which permitted of but little delay, and bodies were often beneath the turf before they were fairly cold, and even while Guly bent to take a last adieu of the still form before him, the cartman, a burly negro, was loudly vociferating for "the body," declaring it would be dark before ever he could get his "load dumped." The coffin was placed upon the top of a number of others, and Guly, too overcome by the grief and anxiety he had experienced, to be able to follow it to the cemetery, stood in the door-way, watching the dismal cart, as it rattled along, bearing to its last resting-place, all that remained of the once proud and happy Arthur.