There was something so inexpressibly sweet yet mournful in his concluding words, that Emmeline, unable to restrain the impulse, leaned upon his neck and wept.

“Do not chide my weakness, Herbert,” she tried to say, “these are not tears of unmingled sadness; oh, could I but see you happy.”

“And you will, my sweet sister:  soon—­very soon, I shall be happy, quite—­quite happy,” he added, in a lower tone, as he fondly kissed her brow.

Emmeline had not marked the tone of his concluding words, she had not seen the expression of his features; but Ellen had, and a cold yet indefinable thrill passed through her heart, and left a pang behind, which she could not conquer the whole of that day.  She understood it not, for she would not understand.

Urged on, however, a few days afterwards, during a walk with Herbert, she asked him why he was so anxious the ceremony should take place without delay.

“Because, my dear Ellen, I look forward to the performance of this ceremony as a source of pleasure which I could not bear to resign to another.”

“To another, Herbert; what do you mean?  Do you think of following my uncle’s advice, and resigning your duties for a time, for the purpose of travel?”

“No, Ellen; those duties will not be resigned till I am called away; they are sources of enjoyment and consolation too pure to be given up.  I do not wish my sister’s wedding to be deferred, for I know not how soon my Saviour may call me to Himself.”

“May we not all urge that plea, my dear cousin?” said Ellen; “and yet in your sermon last Sunday, you told us to do all things soberly, to give due reflection to things of weight, particularly those in which temporal and eternal interests were united; not to enter rashly and hastily into engagements, not too quickly to put off the garb of mourning, and plunge once more into the haunts of pleasure.”  She paused.

“I did say all this, Ellen, I own; but it has not much to do with our present subject.  Emmeline’s engagement with Arthur has not been entered on rashly or in haste.  She does not throw off the garb of mourning to forget the serious thoughts it may have encouraged; and though you are right, we none of us can know how soon we may be called away, yet, surely, it behoves those unto whom the dart has sped, the mandate been given, to set their house in order for they shall surely die, and not live the usual period of mortals.”

“But who can tell this, Herbert? who are so favoured as to know the actual moment when the dart has sped and how soon it will reach them? should we not all live as if death were near?”