Roused at last from the stupor in which he fallen, Wilkins rose from the floor, and taking his infant son in his arms, went out and told the neighbors what had occurred. Leaving his child with a friend living near by, he next went in search of a coroner, and returned with him to the house. All this Bernard did calmly, quietly, almost like one in a dream, with no thought for his own safety, no idea of danger to himself. The coroner was a gentleman well known to Bernard, acquainted with both the good and bad traits of his nature. In looking upon the corpse he readily understood the whole matter, and pitied the unfortunate murderer, even more than the beautiful victim.

A jury was summoned, and the verdict returned was: "Died by the accidental discharge of a pistol, in the hands of Bernard Wilkins."

The sincere and unaffected sorrow which Bernard evinced, served to corroborate this statement, and if any guessed, none knew, the real truth.

Della was sent for, and came hastily. Though almost overwhelmed at the terrible death of her favorite, she spoke no word of reproach, uttered no sentence of reproof, to that husband, who, it was plainly evident, suffered immeasurably. Della's own hands prepared Minny's body for the tomb. She robed her in one of her own dresses—an India mull, of spotless white, and folded the tiny hands below the exquisite bust, clasping a few pale flowers. The fatal ball had left the face uninjured, and the wound beneath her chin was skillfully concealed. The eyes were closed perfectly and naturally. The lips, yet red and full, slightly parted over the pearly teeth, as if with a smile, and the long black curls floated gracefully down the fair neck and bosom. To have looked upon her, one would have deemed her sleeping. As long as it was possible, Della kept the body unentombed. The news of the fearful death had spread over a goodly portion of the city, and hundreds came to look upon the corpse, and turned away with wet cheeks, declaring it the loveliest sight they had ever looked upon.

The day of burial arrived at last, and, bending over the coffin, Della, with raining tears, pressed her lips for the last time upon the brow of that being, who had been faithful to her, even to death. The long concourse moved slowly away. Guly walked at Wilkins' side. As the boy glanced upon that pale face once more, before the tomb closed upon it for ever, the memory of the first time he ever saw her, came back upon his mind—the time when, with the wild glitter in her eye, he had seen her strike Wilkins that fearful blow, and rush shudderingly past him into the darkness.

On returning from the cemetery, Wilkins found General Delville's carriage at the door, and its owner within, conversing with his wife. She had not gone out to the burial on account of her child, who was not well. The General seemed overjoyed to find Della the happy wife and mother, which, under such sad circumstances, she appeared. He told them how eagerly he had searched the city over, in the hopes of finding them, since their marriage, but had signally failed, until the papers, in recording the fearful event which had just passed, had given him some clue to their whereabouts, which he had immediately followed up.

"I am now," said he, "on the eve of starting for Europe. America has no tie of kindred for me; I've not a relative living in all this broad land, and I shall launch myself upon the waves of the Atlantic to-morrow, no doubt for the last time, before sinking into the vast ocean of eternity, whose waves are ever loudly beating on the shores of time. I hope to end my days on classic ground; and to have my grave swept by those breezes which have fanned the brows of the great masters, whose works I have loved. Thus, I shall die happy. Sometimes," said he, taking Della's hand, and smiling upon her the same smile which had so lightened her heart months before, "sometimes give a thought to the old man, whose bones will drop to dust in foreign lands, but who, to the latest hour of his existence, will cherish his love and fond remembrance of you."

With one more earnest pressure of the hand, he bade them farewell; and with sad hearts, Della and her husband waved back his last adieu, and saw him pass from their sight, for the last time, for ever. Upon turning to re-enter the house, a folded paper, lying on the table where the General's hat had stood, attracted Della's attention. She found it directed to herself, and upon opening it found it contained a check for one hundred thousand dollars, upon one of the city banks, left for her as a parting gift from him, who, though he could not be her husband, had proved himself her friend.

"Oh, Bernard!" exclaimed Della, as she realized the fortune which had so unexpectedly fallen to her lot; "let us at once leave this place. We have no friends here. My parents, who have disowned me, I haven't even the claim of love upon; and there are no ties, save Minny's grave, and the friendship of a few constant hearts, to bind us here. These, sooner or later, must be broken at last, and I would rather seek some home, wherein to spend the residue of our days, free from the sad associations which cluster here."

To this proposition Bernard consented; and immediate preparations were made to depart for the Isle of Cuba, that gem of the Antilles, whose sparkling lustre has won the admiration of the world.

Before their departure, Della caused a marble tomb to be erected over Minny's remains. The design was simple and elegant, and the marble as pure as the cold young heart it covered. It bore the simple inscription:—

"MY SISTER."

Della proposed to Bernard, now that they were so abundantly able, to offer a home to the friendless Blanche, and let her be as a sister to them. Accompanied by Guly, who was still Wilkins' warmest friend, they went to the little house, to offer this proposition to the beautiful brodeuse. To the utter astonishment of all, and to Guly's chagrin and despair, they found the house deserted, the door closed, and the familiar card, "To Let," swinging from the upper balcony. Blanche was gone, none knew whither.

Della and Bernard waited several days, in the hope of hearing something of their young friend; but thwarted in their generous desire, they at last left the city, bidding an affectionate farewell to Guly, who stood upon the levee, watching the departing vessel, bearing away those true and tried friends, till lost to his aching sight.

They bought a delightful country residence, near the city of Havana, and established themselves there, in the heart of a pleasant neighborhood, and were soon surrounded by warm and faithful friends. Bernard Wilkins became an altered man. His habits of dissipation were broken for ever; and he remained a faithful husband and happy father. Thus, performing his promises to the dying Minny, her departing words were fulfilled; and the shadow of her last hour rested on his heart ever holily—holily!