bs relieved her. Poor Sue--and poor Mary! It would not
have been so hard could she have watched by her sister's bedside and
aided to soothe the pain and the fear of the dear little one who had
from the time of her birth been Mary's especial care.

Delay had before been vexatious, but it was now agony. The few hours
that elapsed before she was on the way, were as weeks to Mary's
impatient spirit; and then the miles seemed _so_ endless, the dreary
road most solitary. The night was passed in sleepless tossing, and the
afternoon of the second day found her scarcely able to control her
restless agitation. She was then rapidly nearing home. Every thing had
a familiar aspect; the farm-houses--the huge rocks that lifted their
hoary heads by the road-side--the dark, deep woods--the village
church--were in turn recognized. Then came the long ascent of the
hill, which alone hid her home from view. Even that was at last
accomplished, and she caught a glimpse of the dear old homestead, its
rambling dark-brown walls, half-hidden by the clump of broad-leaved
maples that clustered about it. Could it be reality, that she was once
more so near all whom she loved? There was no deception; it was not
the delusive phantom of a passing dream; her brother's glad greeting
was too earnest; her mother's sobbed blessing too tender. After the
hopes and plans of many weeks, even months, such was her "welcome
home."

"You are in time to see your sister once more," said Mrs. Gordon, as
she released Mary from a fond embrace; and a feeble voice from the
adjoining room, a whisper, rather than a call, came softly to her
ears.

"Dear Susie--my poor darling!" were all the spoken words, as she
clasped the little sufferer in her arms. The child made no sound, not
even a murmur of delight escaped her wan lips. She folded her thin,
pale hands about her sister's neck, and gently laying her head upon
the bosom which had so often pillowed it, lay with her large spiritual
eyes fixed upon those regarding her so tenderly, as if she feared a
motion might cause the loved vision to vanish. Fast flowing tears fell
silently upon her face, but she heeded them not; then came fierce
pain, that distorted every feature, but still no moan, no sound.

"Speak to me, Susie, will you not!" whispered Mary, awed by the
fixed, intense gaze of those mournful eyes.

"I knew you would come, sister, to see me once more before I go," was
the murmured reply. "I knew God would let me m