heaven with a radiance such as he had never before seen. Peace seemed spread abroad; the shrieks of delirium, the labored breath and strangling groan of the death agony were stilled. For a moment all the terrible reality by which he was surrounded was forgotten, and Philip sat dreaming of the cool sea-girt city from which he had that day received tidings of Margaret. She had sent a contribution of money and of clothing. He had recognized among the many useful articles of dress a pair of tiny satin shoes, half-worn, and holding still the impress of her foot. They were modish little shoes, high-instepped and silver-buckled, inappropriate enough for the class of women for whom they were sent; but they seemed to Philip Rondelet like a talisman, and he had kissed them and put them in his breast, as if they had been sent him for a love-token. Some one touched him on the shoulder, calling him back from that blessed moment of oblivion to the fearful intensity of the present; it was Virginia. He started to his feet, feeling as guilty as a drowsing picket challenged on his post.

"What is it, my child?"

"The priest I watched with last night died this morning; there is not one other clergyman who is not down with the fever. They have come to take him. Can we not go to see him