have helped me more than you
know. In my sore need, I was not left comfortless. Neither will you
be. May the Lord bless you, and keep you always. Amen."

Her head sank upon her breast. She seemed to settle down in the bed as
if her weight had suddenly grown greater.

The sombre dawn had broken by this time, and by its light Beth saw the
shadow of death come creeping over the delicate patient face.

"Aunt Victoria," she gasped breathlessly, like one in haste to deliver
a message before it is too late, "shall I say '_Lift up your heads, O
ye gates?_' That was the first thing you taught me."

The old lady spoke no more, but Beth saw that she understood. The
faint flicker of a smile, a pleased expression, came into her face and
settled there. Beth, feeling the full solemnity of the moment, got
down from the bed, and stood beside it, holding fast still to the kind
old hand that would nevermore caress or help her, as if she could keep
the dear one near her by clinging to her.

"_Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in
His holy place?_" she began, with a strange vibration in her voice.
"_He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up
his soul to vanity; nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the
blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his
salvation. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lifted up, ye
everlasting doors, and the King of glory shall come in._" Beth's
voice broke here, but with a great effort she began again fervently:
"_Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting
doors----_"

There she stopped, for at the words the dear good kind old lady, with
a gentle sigh, as of relief, passed from the scene of her sufferings,
out of this interval of time, into the measureless eternity.

CHAPTER XXIV

Aunt Victoria Bench died of failure of the heart, the medical man
decided; and, he might have added, if the feelings of the family had
not had to be considered, that the disease was accelerated by
privation and cold.

For days after the event, Beth was not to be roused. She would sit in
the tenantless room by the hour together, with the dear old aunt's
great Bible on her knee open at some favourite passage, thinking of
all that ought to have been done to save her, and suffering the ache
and rage of the helpless who would certainly have done all that could
have been done had they had their way. Again and again her mother