For a few minutes there was silence.  Ellen had clasped the hand of Mary, and turned aside her head to conceal the tears that slowly stole down her cheek.  The entrance of Emmeline was a relief to both, and Ellen left the room; and when she returned, even to Mary’s awakened eyes, there were no traces of agitation.  Each week produced a visible change in Mary; she became weaker and weaker, but her mind retained its energy, and often her sorrowing friends feared she would pass from the detaining grasp of love, ere they were aware of the actual moment of her departure.  One evening she begged that all the family might assemble in her room; she felt stronger, and wished to see them altogether again.  Her wish was complied with, and she joined so cheerfully in the conversation that passed around, that her mother and Herbert forgot anxiety.  It was a soft and lovely evening; her couch, at her own request, had been drawn to the open window, and the dying girl looked forth on the beautiful scene beneath.  The trees bore the rich full green of summer, save where the brilliantly setting sun tinged them with hues of gold and crimson.  Part of the river was also discernible at this point, lying in the bosom of trees, as a small lake, on which the heavens were reflected in all their surpassing splendour.  The sun, or rather its remaining beams, rested on the brow of a hill, which, lying in the deepest shadow, formed a superb contrast with the flood of liquid gold that bathed its brow.  Clouds of purple, gold, crimson, in some parts fading into pink, floated slowly along the azure heavens, and the perfect stillness that reigned around completed the enchantment of the scene.

“Look up, my Mary, and mark those clouds of light,” said Herbert.  “See the splendour of their hues, the unstained blue beyond; beautiful as is earth, it shows not such exquisite beauty as yon heaven displays, even to our mortal sight, nor calls such feelings of adoration forth.  What then will it be when that blue arch is rent asunder, and the effulgent glory of the Maker of that heaven burst upon our view?”

“Blessed, oh, how blessed are those who, conducted by the Lamb of God, can share that glory,” answered Mary, with sudden energy.  “Who can speak the unutterable love which, while the beauteous earth yet retains the traces of an awful curse, hath washed from man his sin, and takes from death its sting?”

“And is it this thought, this faith which supports you now, my Mary?” demanded Herbert, with that deep tenderness of one so peculiarly his own.

“It is, it is,” she answered, fervently, “My sins are washed away; my prayers are heard, for my Saviour pleads, and my home is prepared on high amid the redeemed and the saved.  Oh, blessed be the God of truth that hath granted me this faith”—­she paused a minute, then added—­“and heard my prayer, my beloved Herbert, and permitted me thus to die in my native land, surrounded by those I love!”