, supporting her head upon my
breast.

"It is like a dream, that long night of agony. The patience of Ellen, the
kindness of her physician, and the devotion of her old nurse--I thought
that only a wife could have endured as she did.

"Before this, Ellen had told me her wishes as regards her child, persuaded
that, if it should live, she should not survive its birth to take care of
it. She entreated me to befriend it in the helpless time of infancy, and
then to appeal to its father in its behalf. I promised her to do so, always
chiding her for not hoping and trusting. 'Ellen,' I would say, 'life is a
blessing as long as God gives it, and it is our duty to consider it so.'

"'Yes, Miss Janet, but if God give me a better life, shall I not esteem it
a greater blessing? I have not deserved shame and reproach, and I cannot
live under it. Right glad and happy am I, that a few sods of earth will
soon cover all.'

"Such remarks as these," continued Cousin Janet, "convinced me that there
was grief, but not guilt, on Ellen's breast, and for her own sake, I hoped
that she would so explain to me her past history, that I should have it in
my power to clear her reputation. But she never did. Truly, 'she died and
made no sign,' and it is reserved to a future day to do her justice.

"I said she died. That last night wore on, and no word of impatience or
complaint escaped her lips. The agony of death found her quiet and
composed. Night advanced, and the gray morning twilight fell on those
features, no longer flushed and excited. Severe faintings had come on, and
the purple line under the blue eyes heralded the approach of death. Her
luxuriant hair lay in damp masses about her; her white arms were cold, and
the moisture of death was gathering there too. 'Oh! Miss Ellen,' cried old
Lucy, 'you will be better soon--bear up a little longer.'

"'Ellen dear,' I said, 'try and keep up.' But who can give life and
strength save One?--and He was calling to her everlasting rest the poor
young sufferer.

"'Miss Ellen,' again cried Lucy, 'you have a son; speak to me, my darling;'
but, like Rachel of old, she could not be thus revived, 'her soul was in
departing.'

"Lucy bore away the child from the chamber of death, and I closed her white
eyelids, and laid her hands upon her breast. Beautiful was she in death:
she had done with pain and tears forever.

"I never can forget," continued Cousin Janet, after a pause of a few
moments, "Lucy's grief