hing which he
advised was horrible to her--abhorrent beyond words. But then there
was her father lying so near to death--whom, perhaps, her
self-sacrifice might save, and whom certainly her selfishness would
destroy. She could not hesitate. It was a bitter decision, but she
made it. She rose to her feet paler than ever, but quite calm.

"Doctor," said she, "I have decided. It is horrible beyond words;
but I will do it, or any thing, for his sake. I would die to save
him; and this is something worse than death."

She was calm and cold; her voice seemed unnatural; her eyes were
tearless.

"It seems very hard," she murmured, after a pause; "I never saw
Captain Molyneux but once, and I was only ten years old."

"How old are you now?" asked the doctor, who knew not what to say to
this poor stricken heart.

"Fifteen."

"Poor child!" said he, compassionately; "the trials of life are
coming upon you early; but," he added, with a desperate effort at
condolence, "do not be so despairing; whatever may be the result, you
are, after all, in the path of duty; and that is the safest and the
best for us all in the end, however hard it may seem to be in the
present."

Just then the General's voice interrupted his little homily, sounding
querulously and impatiently: "Zillah! Zillah!"

She sprang to his bedside: "Here I am, dear papa."

"Will you do as I wish?" he asked, abruptly.

"Yes," said Zillah, with an effort at firmness which cost her dear.
Saying this, she kissed him; and the beam of pleasure which at this
word lighted up the wan face of the sick man touched Zillah to the
heart. She felt that, come what might, she had received her reward.

"My sweetest, dutiful child," said the General, tenderly; "you have
made me happy, my darling. Now get your desk and write for him at
once. You must not lose time, my child."

This unremitting pressure upon her gave Zillah a new struggle, but
the General exhibited such feverish impatience that she dared not
resist. So she went to a Davenport which stood in the corner of the
room, and saying, quietly, "I will write here, papa," she seated
herself, with her back toward him.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, papa."

The General then began to dictate to her what she was to write. It
was as follows:

"MY DEAR OLD FRIEND,--I think it will cause you some grief to hear
that our long friendship is about to be broken up. My days, I fear,
are numbered."

Zillah stifled the sobs t