n knelt beside her, and buried her face in her hands. Mary
laid hers on the bowed head.

"Dear Florry, I have little time to stay. Do not sadden this last
hour with vain regrets. Ah! my cousin, I thank God that you will be
so happy. When you miss me from your side you will feel lonely enough,
and your heart will ache for me again. Yet, though bodily absent, I
shall not be far away, Florry. My spirit will hover round the loved
ones I leave on earth. Your dead, forming an angel-guard, will ever
linger about your earthly path, and in the hour like this will bear up
your spirit to God. Think not of me as resting in the silent grave. I
shall not be there, but ever near you. I do not say, try to forget me,
and fix your thoughts on other things. Oh! I beg you to think of me
often, and of our glorious reunion in heaven! Florry, there is one
thing which will stand between you and me. My dear cousin, conquer
your pride, cast away your haughtiness, and learn to lean on God, and
walk in accordance with his law. Oh! who would exchange the hope of a
Christian for all that worlds could offer? One may pass through life,
and do without it; but in the hour of death its claim is imperatively
urged, and none can go down to the tomb in peace without it. Florry,
you said last night it was hard that I should die. I am not merely
reconciled, but I am happy! Earth looks very bright and joyous, and if
I might stay, my future is attractive indeed. Yet I know that for some
good end I am taken, and what seems to you so hard, is but a blessing
in disguise. Oh! then, when you are summoned away, may you feel, as
I now do, that the arms of your God are outstretched to receive you."
She held out her hand to Mr. Stewart, who stood beside her: he clasped
it in his.

"Cherish Florry, and let no shadow come between you. It gives me
inexpressible joy to know that when I am gone you will be near to love
and to guide her."

"We will comfort and guide each other, dear Mary, and oh! I pray God
that we may be enabled to join you in that land of rest to which you
are hastening." He fervently kissed the thin white hand he held, and
then gently raised Florence. Mary lifted her arms feebly, and they
clasped each other in a long, last embrace.

"Mary, my angel cousin, I cannot give you up. Oh! I have never prized
you as I ought. Who will love me as you have done?"

"Hush, Florry!" whispered the sinking voice of the sufferer. "I am
very, very happy--kiss me, and