oor of death
We see the heaven that beckoneth
To the beloved going hence."
GERALD MASSEY.

"Read me the twenty-third Psalm," said Miss Henderson.

It was the evening before the day fixed upon by her physicians for the
surgical operation she had decided to submit to.

Faith was in her place by the bedside, her hand resting in that of her
aunt. Mr. Armstrong sat near--an open Bible before him. Miss Sampson had
gone down the field for a "snatch of air."

Clear upon the stillness fell the sacred words of cheer. There was a
strong, sure gladness in the tone that uttered them, that told they were
born anew, in the breathing, from a heart that had proved the goodness
and mercy of the Lord.

In a solemn gladness, also, two other hearts received them, and said,
silently, Amen!

"Now the fourteenth of St. John."

"'In my father's house are many mansions.' 'I will dwell in the house of
the Lord, forever.' Yes. It holds us all. Under one roof. One
family--whatever happens! Now, put away the book, and come here; you
two!"

It was done; and Roger Armstrong and Faith Gartney stood up, side by
side, before her.

"I haven't said so before, because I wouldn't set people troubling
beforehand. But in my own mind, I'm pretty sure of what's coming. And if
I hadn't felt so all along, I should now. When the Lord gives us our
last earthly wish, and the kind of peace comes over that seems as if it
couldn't be disturbed by anything, any more, we may know, by the hush of
it, that the day is done. I'm going to bid you good night, Faith, and
send you home. Say your prayers, and thank God, for yourself and for me.
Whatever you hear of me, to-morrow, take it for good news; for it _will_
be good. Roger Armstrong! Take care of the child! Child! love your
husband; and trust in him; for you may!"

Close, close--bent Faith above her aunt, and gave and took that solemn
good-night kiss.

"'The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the
communion of the Holy Ghost, be with us all. Amen!'"

With the word of benediction, Roger Armstrong turned from the bedside,
and led Faith away.

And the deeper shadows of night fell, and infolded the Old House, and
the hours wore on, and all was still. Stillest, calmest of all, in the
soul of her who had dwelt there for nearly threescore years and ten, and
who knew, none the less, that it would be surely home to her wheresoever
her place might be give