Holding the lamp over her rigid but beautiful features, Jonathan, with some anxiety, placed his hand upon her breast to ascertain whether the heart still beat. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. But in this posture he fared worse than ever. He thought of his wealth for once from a different point of view. For a time she promenaded the room. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures.
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