At length Madame Berara assumed the responsibility of calling in her own confessor, and silently quitting the room, went in quest of him.

Inez suspected the cause of her usual absence, and too feeble to concentrate her thoughts, turned her face to the wall, and wearily closed her eyes.
Yet one hand felt along the cover and beneath the pillow.

For what was she searching on the bed of death?
The thin fingers rested on a small and well-worn Bible, and a tiny package, wrapped in paper and carefully tied.

The sacred volume was feebly pushed beneath her head, and mechanically she undid the knot, and drew forth a glossy lock of black hair.

Wearily she pressed it to her lips several times, and again folding it away, her hands sank powerless upon her bosom.
Inez, Inez! are there none near to clasp thy cold hand and tenderly lift thy weary head?
Alas, thou desolate one, Thou art left alone in the bitter hour of thy trial! When all things seem shrouded in impenetrable gloom, and thy darkened soul turns from the tortured past to the dim, uncertain future, no loved one is nigh to dash away the gathering mists, and point to that celestial home "of which it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive." Oh, Inez! thy short life has been dark and tempestuous; it is hard that a calm and peaceful end is denied to thee, thou suffering one, longing for rest, oblivion of the past, utter unconsciousness! Struggle on, proud maiden! but a few moments, and thy tones will vibrate no longer, thy firm step cease forever, and thy memory pass away like the shadows of night! Senora Berara re-entered the silent chamber, accompanied by a priest, clad in the vestments of his order.