Nobody dies of mere grief; of this Antonia was an instance. Aided by her youth and healthy constitution, she shook off the malady which her mother’s death had occasioned; but it was not so easy to remove the disease of her mind. Her eyes were constantly filled with tears: every trifle affected her, and she evidently nourished in her bosom a profound and rooted melancholy. The slightest mention of Elvira, the most trivial circumstance recalling that beloved parent to her memory, was sufficient to throw her into serious agitation. How much would her grief have been increased, had she known the agonies which terminated her mother’s existence! But of this no one entertained the least suspicion. Elvira was subject to strong convulsions: it was supposed that, aware of their approach, she had dragged herself to her daughter’s chamber in hopes of assistance; that a sudden access of her fits had seized her, too violent to be resisted by her already enfeebled state of health; and that she had expired ere she had time to reach the medicine which generally relieved her, and which stood upon a shelf in Antonia’s room. This idea was firmly credited by the few people, who interested themselves about Elvira: her death was esteemed a natural event, and soon forgotten by all save by her, who had but too much reason to deplore her loss.