"All hail--happiness and blessing--to-day and for ever--for my darling child in Quisisana."
The doctor rose, and was now pacing up and down the chamber with folded arms. From the adjoining room, the door of which was left ajar, he heard suppressed sobs. The faithful servant's unconcealed grief had well-nigh unchained the bitter sorrow in his own heart. He brushed the tears from his eyes, stepped to the couch, and drew the covering back.
He stood there long, lost in marvelling contemplation.
The beautiful lofty brow, overshadowed by the soft and abundant hair, the dark colour of which was not broken by one silvery thread; the daintily curved lips, that seemed about to open for some witty saying, lips the pallor of which was put to shame by the whiteness of the teeth, which were just visible; the broad-arched chest--what wonder that the man of fifty had felt in life like a youth--like the youth for whom Death had taken him.
From those pure and pallid features Death had wiped away even the faintest remembrance of the woe which had broken the noble heart.
Now it was still--still for evermore!
He laid his hand upon that silent heart.
"Qui si sana!" he said, very gently.