It was very evident that Mr. Hamilton could survive but a few days; and to every entreaty that she would take some rest, Florence but shook her head, and replied, that she would not leave him when he must die so soon.

One evening Dr. Bryant, having administered a soothing potion, turned to her and said, “My dear Miss Hamilton, you will seriously injure your health by such constant watching.  Your father needs nothing now but quiet.  Let me entreat you to go out for a short time; the air will refresh you, and your aunt will remain with Mr. Hamilton.”  He drew her reluctantly from her seat as he spoke, and whispered Mary to accompany her.

Drawing her arm round Florence, Mary turned in the direction of their accustomed rambles, but her cousin said, “I am too weary to walk far, let us go to our old seat by the river.”

The stream was only a few yards distant, and they seated themselves on a broad, flat stone, beneath a cluster of pomegranate and figs.  The evening was beautifully clear, the soft light which still lingered in the west mellowing every object, and the balmy southern breeze, fresh from “old ocean’s bosom,” rustling musically amidst the branches above.  As if to enhance the sweetness of the hour, and win the mourners from their sad thoughts, the soothing tones of the vesper bells floated afar on the evening air; distance had softened them, and now they sounded clear and Eolian-like.  The river eddied and curled rapidly along at their feet; and ever and anon, the stillness that seemed settling around was broken by the plunging fish, that gambled in hundreds amidst its blue waters.

“How calm and holy this stillness seems!  Florry, does it not cause you to lift your heart in gratitude to the ‘almighty Giver’ of so many blessings?”

“All things are dark to sorrow;” replied Florence, and folding her arms across her bosom, she dropped her head wearily upon them.

“Oh, Florry, do not give up so!  I cannot bear to hear your despairing tone.  Still hope; your dear father may be spared to us;” and she put her arms caressingly around her.

“Hope!” echoed Florence; “I have ceased to hope that he will recover.  I know that he cannot; and in a few hours I shall be alone in the world.  Alone, alone!” she repeated the words, as if fully to realize the misery in store for her.  “O God! why hast thou not taken me before?  Take me now; oh, in mercy, take me with him!”

In vain Mary strove to soothe and console her; she remained perfectly still, her face hid in her arms, and replied not to her anxious questionings.  A long silence ensued, and Mary wept.  A feeling of desolation began to creep over her; a second time she was to be thrown on the wide, cold world.  She thought of her uncle’s generosity and unvaried kindness during the many years she had dwelt under his roof, and scarcely felt that it was not her own.  And then there stole up the image of her lost mother; the wan, but saint-like face, and the heavenly smile with which she pointed upward, and bade her child prepare for the glorious union, in that mansion which Jehovah assigned to those who are faithful on earth.