“Undoubtedly, we should so order our souls, as ever to be ready to render them back to Him who gave them; but we cannot always so arrange our worldly matters, as we should, did we know the actual moment of death’s appearance; our business may require constant care, we may have dear objects for whom it is our duty to provide, to the best of our power, and did we know when we should die, these things would lose the interest they demand.  Death should, indeed, be ever present to our minds; it should follow us in our joy as in our sorrow, and never will it come as a dark and gloomy shadow to those who in truth believe; but wise and merciful is the decree that conceals from us the moment of our departure.  Were the gates of Heaven thus visible, how tame and cold would this world appear; how few would be the ties we should form, how insignificant would seem those duties which on earth we are commanded to perform.  No, to prepare our souls to be ready at a minute’s warning to return to their heavenly home is the duty of all.  More is not expected from those in perfect health; but, Ellen, when a mortal disease is consuming this earthly tabernacle, when, though Death linger, he is already seen, ay, and even felt approaching, then should we not wind up our worldly affairs, instead of wilfully blinding our eyes to the truth, as, alas! too many do?  Then should we not ‘watch and pray’ yet more, not only for ourselves, but those dearest to us, and do all in our power to secure their happiness, ere we are called away?”

Ellen could not answer.  She understood too well his meaning; a sickness as of death crept over her, but with an effort she subdued that deadly faintness; she would have spoken on other things, but her tongue was parched and dry.

Engrossed in his own solemn feelings, in the wish to prepare his cousin for the truth, Herbert perceived not her agitation, and, after a minute’s pause, continued tenderly—­

“My own cousin, death to you is, I know, not terrible; why then should I hesitate to impart tidings which to me are full of bliss?  The shaft which bore away my Mary, also entered my heart, and implanted in me the disease which no mortal skill can cure.  Do not chide me for entertaining an unfounded fancy.  Ellen, dear Ellen, I look to you, under heaven, to support my mother under this affliction.  I look to your fond cares to subdue the pang of parting.  You alone of her children will be left near her, and you can do much to comfort and soothe not only her, but my father; they will mourn for me, nature will speak, though I go to joy inexpressible, unutterable!  Ellen, speak to me; will you not do this, my sister, my friend?”