es got
letters from him. The doctor said he did not think that grandmother
would live over the night. The only thing that had quieted her was the
singing of the young lady whom she had called Miss Hilda, and who had
come to the cottage that day with Miss Stanford. Maybe if she could come
again and sing grandmother would be quieter.

On hearing this Frida rose, and said if Lady Stanford would allow her,
she would go and remain all night with the old woman, who she felt sure
must have been her mother's nurse. She often, she said, watched a night
by dying beds in the Black Forest, and had comforted some on their
death-beds by reading to them portions of God's Word.

The Stanfords could not refuse her request; and when Lady Stanford had
herself filled a basket with provisions for Frida herself and little
Maggie, the girl set off, accompanied by Sir Richard, who went with her
to the door of the cottage.

Finding the poor woman still delirious, Frida took off her cloak and
bonnet and prepared to spend the night with her, and sitting down beside
the bed she once more began to sing some sweet gospel hymns. In low and
gentle tones she sang of Jesus and His love, and again the sufferer's
restlessness and moaning ceased, and she seemed soothed.

Hours passed, and the early summer morn began to dawn, and still the old
woman lived on. Every now and then she muttered the name of Miss Hilda,
and once she seemed to be imploring her not to vex her mother; and more
than once she said the name of Heinz, and whenever she did so she became
more excited, and moaned out the words, "Woe's me! woe's me!" Frida
watched anxiously every word, in the hope that she might hear the name
of Hilda's mother or the place where they lived; but she watched in
vain. It was evident that though there was a look of returning
consciousness, life was fast ebbing. A glance upward seemed to indicate
that the dying woman's thoughts had turned heavenward. Frida opened her
Bible and read aloud the words of the "shepherd psalm," so precious to
many a dying soul, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me."

To her amazement the sick woman repeated the words, "_thou_ art with
me;" and as she finished the last word the soul fled, and Frida and
Maggie were alone with the dead. The story of Frida's birth was still
undisclosed, but God's word, as recorded in Holy Scripture, had again
brought peace to a dying