cannot feel you, for each sense grows dull; stoop
lower yet. -- Oh, soul, why all this haste? Amanda,
Claude, poor, missing Mona, I have somewhat more
to say to you; quick, listen, listen, or it will be too
late. Pshaw! pshaw! it _is_ too late, too late, too
late!" And his head fell backwards, and with his
arms clasped convulsively around the necks of Claude
and Amanda, the advocate, like his son, was a corpse.
On the following day both of them were laid in
the English burying ground, but no stone marks the
spot, and in vain the stranger seeks to discover it.
None are able, or care, to point it out, restrained by
a superstitious awe. A few octogenarians still re-
member him, and look grave and shake the head,
when questioned as to the story and fate of the
talented and terrible Advocate of Montreal.

[[125]]

p124b _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p125w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p126

v?