Spirit. Do you think that as His minister you can pray for
my departing soul?"

"Yes, yes," the clergyman replied, and falling upon his knees, for he
saw in the pinched face the look he could not mistake, he began the
prayer for the dying one, who whispered, faintly:

"That is good, very good. And now, Hannah, the Lord's Prayer once more;
it is the last. We have said it many times together, you and I, when the
night was blackest and we could think of nothing else. Where are you,
Hannah?" he added, in a tone of alarm, as if he had lost her. "It is
growing dark and I cannot see. You must not leave me now. We have kept
together so long."

"I am here, father; with my arm around your neck, and I am kissing your
dear face," Hannah said, and then, bending over him, she commenced the
prayer they had so often said together when no other words would come.

Faintly the old man's voice joined hers and that of the clergyman, and
only Burton was silent. He could not pray, but sat silent, while his
father whispered at short intervals:

"Forgive; yes, that's the good word, and I am forgiven. I feel it. I
know it. Salvation is sure, even for me, and in heaven I shall wait and
watch for you, Hannah, the best and truest daughter a man ever had. Oh,
God bless my Hannah, and grant that some joy, some happiness may come to
her when I am gone; and Grey, the baby Grey, oh, bless him, too, with
every needful blessing--the baby Grey, whose little hands took the
stain, the smart from mine--my Grey, whom I love so much."

"And Burton, too!" Hannah suggested, as her father ceased speaking
without mentioning his son.

"Yes," he replied, rousing a little. "And Burton, my son; God bless him.
But he is not like you, Hannah, nor like Grey. He could not forgive as
you have; he will never forgive me. And yet he is very just, very good,
very respectable, and the Hon. Burton Jerrold, of Boston. Tell him
good-by and God bless him from me, the murderer!"

Those were the last words he ever spoke, for though he lingered for some
hours it was in a kind of stupor, from which they could not rouse him.

Seeing that he could be of no further service, and remembering the
careful Martha, who, he knew, was sitting up for him, armed with
reproaches for the lateness of the hour, and various medicines as
preventives for the cold he was sure to have taken, Mr. Sanford
signified his intention to return home, and insisted that the boy Sam
should not be awakened to