ye My people," several times.

"Aunt Victoria, are you ill?" Beth said. The old lady looked at her
with dim eyes, then stretched out her hand to her. Beth clasped it. It
was deadly cold.

"I shall light the fire," Beth said with determination, "and I shall
make you some tea to ease your cough. You won't mind if I take the
candle a moment to go downstairs and get the things?"

Beth was practical enough now. The vision and the dream had passed,
and she was wide awake again, using her eyes, and requiring a candle.
Before she went downstairs she fetched extra pillows from the spare
room, and propped Aunt Victoria up more comfortably. Then she set to
work to light the fire, and soon had the kettle boiling. As the room
began to warm, Aunt Victoria revived a little, and smiled on Beth for
the first time with perfect recognition. Beth had made her some tea,
and was giving it to her in spoonfuls.

"Is that nice?" she said.

"Delicious," the old lady answered.

The gale was all on the other side of the house, so that here in front
it was comparatively quiet; besides, the wind was dying away as the
day approached. Beth put the teacup down when Aunt Victoria had taken
the little she could, and sat on the side of the bed, holding the old
lady's hand, and gazing at her intently; and, as she watched, she saw
a strange change come over her. The darkness was fading from the sky
and the light from Aunt Victoria's face. Beth had seen nothing like
this before, and yet she had no doubt of what was coming. She had
known it for days and days; she seemed to have known it always.

"Shall I go for mamma?" she asked at last.

The old lady shook her head.

Beth felt strangely benumbed. She thought of rousing Harriet to fetch
the doctor, but she could not move. All feeling was suspended except
the sensation of waiting. This lasted awhile, then a lump began to
mount in her throat, and she had to gulp it down several times.

"Poor little girl," Aunt Victoria muttered, looking at her in her
kindly way. Beth melted. "Oh, what shall I do?" she whimpered, "you
have been so very good to me. You've taught me all the good I know,
and I have done nothing for you--nothing but bother you. But I love
you, Aunt Victoria; stay, do stay. I want to do everything you would
like."

The old lady faintly pressed her hand, then made a last great effort
to speak. "Bless you, Beth, my dear child," she managed to say with
great difficulty. "Be comforted; you