over-fatigue has thus suddenly prostrated her. The
powers of life," continued Dr. Merton, "are fast failing, and in my
opinion a few weeks will terminate her earthly existence. I have
prescribed for her some simple medicines, but I fear her case is already
beyond the aid of medicine. All we can do," said the physician in
conclusion, "is to render her as comfortable as may be, for she will
soon require nothing which this world affords."

The lonely situation of the stranger had deeply touched the kind heart
of Dr. Merton.

As the Doctor had predicted, Mrs. Harwood failed rapidly. She suffered
but little bodily pain, but her strength failed her daily, and it soon
became evident to all who saw her, that the day of her death could not
be far distant.

She gave to Mrs. Humphrey a brief sketch of her past life, which will be
made the subject of another chapter.

Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey had reared a family of five children; three of
them now slept in the village church-yard; the remaining two had
married, and removed to a long distance from their paternal home,
consequently the worthy couple had for some years dwelt alone in the
home where once had echoed the glad voices of their children.

They soon decided that, should Mrs. Harwood not recover, they would
gladly adopt her little boy as their own, if she felt willing to leave
him to their care. So great was the anxiety of Mrs. Harwood regarding
her child, that it was long ere she gave up hopes of recovery, but when
she at length became aware that she must die, she at first found it very
difficult to resign herself to the will of Heaven.

"Were it not for my child," she would often say, "the prospect of death
would not be unpleasant to me, for I have a comforting hope of a life
beyond the grave; but who will care for my orphan boy when I am no more?
I must not distrust the goodness of the orphans' God."

Mr. Humphrey, in reply to these remarks one day, said to her--

"I hope you will make your mind perfectly easy in regard to your child;
for, should it please God to remove you by death, I have already decided
to adopt little Ernest as my own son, if you feel willing to consign him
to my care; and you may rest assured that while my life is spared he
shall be tenderly cared for, as though he were my own son."

"Now," replied Mrs. Harwood, "can I die willingly. Since my illness it
has been my daily and nightly prayer, that should it be the will of
Heaven that I should no