her face was deadly pale. With that force which fear often gives, she bore her to the window, and flung open the casement. Mr. Dalton stood for a moment stupified, but catching Eda's eye, he exclaimed, "For the love of heaven, a surgeon." And he rushed at once from the room—Once, and only once, Ellen again opened her eyes—she looked anxiously round and muttered some indistinct sounds. Her sister who, from fright and fatigue, was incapable of moving—had been laid on her bed; by a mutual impulse, they again extended their arms to each other—their faces touched, and they sank, as if to sleep, but it was a sleep from which they never waked more!
Mr. Dalton, who had himself gallopped to the neighbouring town, as if life and death were indeed upon his speed, now white with agitation, entered the chamber accompanied by the medical attendant. One look was sufficient. The twins lay each in the other's arms, Julia's bright auburn hair mingling with Ellen's darker curls. The colour had left both lip and cheek, and the
