t, Kittie?" asked he, as his cousin stepped
lightly over the threshold, and seated herself on the sofa beside him.

"He seems to revive a little," said she; "Doctor Fincke thinks he may
yet linger for a few days, but I am fearful it can not be--to me he
seems very weak and low."

"I am quite impatient for the end, Kittie," said Willie, in a light and
careless tone, "for I have a great deal to say to you, and you are so
taken up with this young man that I really have not one moment of your
time, lately. It seems as if there might be a proper nurse found,
without your acting in that capacity."

"It is my pleasure, cousin Willie," said Kittie, in a gentle and subdued
voice. "Nothing could induce me to lose the few last words of this dying
saint. He seems already to reflect the glory of the upper land, so that
every one around is blessed by its influence. Oh! Willie, if you would
only learn from so pure an example to make this life but the
stepping-stone to a better and higher being, instead of taking it for
the only good, and giving up every thought to it, it would be such a
gain to yourself, and such a joy to us all!"

"Wouldn't you like to go with me to see Archie?" continued she, a moment
after, as her cousin had taken no notice of her appeal. "He often speaks
very kindly of you, and I'm sure it would give him pleasure to know that
you are truly his friend."

"But Kittie, what's the use! You know I don't care any thing about the
young man, and that it will be quite a relief to me when he is no longer
there to keep you from me. I have never been to the cottage since he
occupied it, and I don't mean to annoy myself with the sight of him
now. It would give me the horrors to see him die!"

Kittie did not urge the matter, but she felt how little there was in the
calm of that Christian soul to excite any gloom or terror in the
beholder, and so soon as she could get away from her cousin she resumed
her seat beside the sick bed. She had a right to be there now--not a
word had been spoken to tell her so; but the gentle heart revealed
itself to her in a silent, yet none the less intelligible way, and her
own responded warmly and heartily.

CHAPTER XIV.

"Molly, I dreamed of Kittie Fay last night," said old Patrick, as he
drew his chair up to his wife. "It seemed as if she was weeping over a
green grave, and as she stood by it she was dressed all in white, like
an angel, and all about her was nothing but a barren