“Your heart is full of love for your babe?”

“He is dearer to me than life—­dearer than a thousand lives,” replied the mother quickly, drawing the babe closer to her bosom.

“Love seeks to bless the object of its regard.”

There was a meaning in the words and tone of the maiden, as she said this, that caused the mother to look into her face earnestly.

“This is not the land of sickness, of sorrow, of death,” resumed the maiden, “but the land of eternal life and blessedness.  Into this land your babe has been born.  You are here only as a visitant, and must soon return to bear a few more trials and pains, a few more conflicts with evil; but the end is your preparation for these heavenly regions.”

A shadow fell instantly upon the mother’s heart.  Tears rushed to her eyes, and she drew her arms more tightly about her babe.

“Shall we keep this babe in our heavenly home, or will you bear it with you back to the dark, cold, sad regions of mortality?”

“Do not take from me my more than life!” sobbed the mother wildly.  “Oh!  I cannot give you my child;” and more eagerly she hugged it to her breast.

For a time there was silence.  Then one of the maidens laid gently her hand upon the mother, and she lifted her bowed head.

“Come,” said the maiden.

The mother arose, and the two walked into the open air, and passing through the group of children sporting on the lawn and in the gardens, went for what seemed the space of a mile, until they came to a forest, into the depths of which they penetrated; and, for a time, the farther they went the darker and more gloomy it became, until scarcely a ray of light from the arching sky came down through the dense and tangled foliage.  At last they were beyond the forest.

“Look,” said the companion.

The mother lifted her eyes—­the babe had strangely passed from her arms.  A dwelling, familiar in aspect, stood near, and through an open window she saw a sick child lying upon a bed, and knew it as her own.  Its little face was distorted by pain and flushed with fever; and as it tossed restlessly to and fro, its moans filled her ears.  She stretched forth her hands, yearning to give some relief; even as she did so, the scene faded from her view, and next she saw an older child, bearing still the linaments of her own.  There was the same broad, white forehead and clustering curls; the same large, bright eyes and full, ruddy lips; but, alas! not the soft vail of innocence which had given the features of the babe such a heavenly charm.  The fine brow was contracted with passion; the eyes flashed with an evil light; and the lips were tightly drawn, and with something of defiance, against the teeth.  The boy was resisting, with a stern determination, the will of the parents—­was setting at naught those early salutary restraints which are the safeguard of youth.

“Oh! my unhappy boy!” cried the mother.