long silence, "this is a calamitous dawn for
Italy."

"Do you not think he will live the day out?"

"I think that he is going fast. I do not
expect to hear him speak again in this world—
I scarcely expect to see him alive at noon."

"If we had only kept that surgeon with us
one week longer!"

"Ay—if we had!"

"Poor Olimpia!"

"Poor Olimpia, indeed! I dread to think of
all she has yet to suffer."

And they were silent again.

"I cannot conceive what we are to do,
Trefalden, when—when it is all over," said Lord
Castletowers, presently.

"Nor I."

"He ought to rest with his own people; and
it must be my task to convey his poor remains
to Rome; but, in the mean while, what is to
become of her?"

"I can escort her to England."

"Impossible, my dear fellow! You have not
the time to travel slowly. You ought, even
now, to be night and day upon the road; and,
do what you will, may still be in London too
late!"

"Stay," replied Saxon, quickly; " I can
suggest a plan. I know of two ladies—English
ladies—who are now residing at Nice. My
cousin knows them well; and if Miss Colonna
would consent to accept their protection till
such time as you had returned from Rome, and
could take her to Castletowers ..."

"An excellent idea, Trefalden—nothing could
be better!"

At this moment Montecuculi came back,
anxious and agitated.

"You had better come down," he said, in a
low, awe-struck tone. "I think he is dying."

"So soon!"

"Indeed, I fear it."

They went. Colonna still lay as when they
saw him last, with his head supported against a
pile of pillows, and a blanket thrown across his
feet and knees; but it needed no second glance
to see that a great change had taken place
within the last half hour. A ghastly, grey hue
had spread itself over his face; his eyes seemed
to have sunk away into two cavernous hollows;
and his very hands were livid. For two hours
he had not moved hand or foot. For more than
two hours he had not spoken. His heart still
beat; but, so feebly, that its action could with
difficulty be detected by the ear, and not at all
by the hand. He still breathed; but the lungs
did their work so languidly, and at such long
intervals, that a stranger would have taken him
for one quite dead. Now and then, not oftener
than once in every fifteen or twenty minutes, a
slight spasmodic shudder, like the momentary
ruffling of still waters, passed over him as he
lay; but of this, as of all else, he was
profoundly unconscious.

"Has he moaned of late? " asked Lord
Castletowers.

Olimpia, with one of her father's cold hands
pressed between her own, and her eyes intently
fixed upon his face, shook her head silently.

"Nor moved?"

She shook her head again.

After this, the Earl stood for a long while
looking down upon the face of his early friend.
As he did so, his eyes filled with tears, and his
heart with sorrowful memories—memories of
days long gone by, and incidents till now
forgotten. He saw himself again a boy at
Colonna's knee. He remembered boyish pleasures
promoted, and vacation rambles shared. He
thought of classic readings under summer trees;
of noble things said, and done, and hoped for;
of high and heroic counsel solemnly given; of
privations uncomplainingly endured; of aspirations
crushed; of arduous labour unrecompensed;
of a patriotism which, however mistaken
in many of its aims, was as gallant and
ardent as that of the noblest Roman of them
all. Remembering these things—remembering,
too, the open hand, the fearless heart, the
unstained honour which had characterised the
dying man in every relation and act of his
unselfish life, the Earl felt as if he had never done
justice to his virtues till this moment.

"Alas, poor Italy!" he said aloud; and the
tears that had been slowly gathering in his eyes
began to fall.

But at that word—that omnipotent word
which for so many years had ruled the beatings
of his heart, coloured his every thought, and
shaped his every purpose—a kind of strange
and sudden thrill swept over Colonna's face. A
livid mask but the instant before, it now seemed
as if lighted from within. His eyelids quivered,
his lips moved, and a faint sound was audible in.
his throat.

"Oh God!" cried Olimpia, flinging herself
upon her knees beside him, " he is about to
speak!"

The Earl held up his hand, in token of
silence.

At that moment the dying man opened his
eyes, and a rapt, radiant, wonderful smile came
upon all his face, like a glory.

"Italia!" he whispered; "Italia!"

The smile remained; but only the smile. Not
the breath—not the spirit—not Giulio Colonna.

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