40 BERTHA. 



It needed only something like this to give a definite form to 

 Bertha's vague and troubled fantasies. That letter, — the 

 breathing of a soul on the very threshold of eternity, mingling 

 so strangely the aspirations after a better world with the wild 

 yearnings of an earthly passion, — was the key-note to the 

 broken melody which echoed within her heart. She had now 

 discovered the true tendency of her nature ; but its unsatisfied 

 thirst could only be slaked in the waters of the " River of 

 Life." 



Meek, gentle, and uncomplaining, she went through her 

 duties mechanically, for her thoughts were among higher 

 things. Her husband was content ; for so long as outward ob- 

 servances were not neglected, he questioned nothing of the 

 inmost soul. But she gradually faded away, until health, and 

 beauty, and energy, all were lost. 



" I shall never see it bloom again," said she, one day, as she 

 plucked the last lingering blossom of the wild Honeysuckle, 

 which was so dear to her as a memento of past days ; " I 

 shall never see it bloom again ; yet I would fain think that it 

 may drop its delicate leaflets upon my grave." 



Her wish was heard by one who could sympathise with the 

 mournful fancy. Ere the autumn leaves fell thick in the forest 

 paths, Bertha was laid to rest in the village churchyard ; and 

 when May-buds opened again their eyelids to the sun, a wild 

 Honeysuckle was wreathing the stately monument which her 

 husband's love or pride, had erected to her memory. 



