“I think not.  If so, I think the stronger yield very readily to the weaker, and certainly should receive our sympathy.”

“But, Annie, how much there is in this little world of ours, that is mysterious and beyond our comprehension, and nothing so much so as the want of union in the marriage relation.  For there the greatest fondness is often turned to the greatest inattention.  But, oh, may Heaven save me from such a lot!”

By this time the cousins reached the house, and soon retiring to rest, Edith was wandering in the land of dreams, while Annie lay busied in thought, counting the hours of night, and seeking to look “beyond the narrow bounds of time, and fix her hopes of happiness on heaven.”

The rougher blasts of autumn blew more fiercely round, and the dry and withered leaves fell from the trees, and drifted along before the chilly winds, while the black passing clouds cast a deep shadow over the face of decaying nature.  Everything bespeaking the return of dreary, desolating winter.

Annie had faded with the leaves of autumn—­she had heard of Edward’s union with a young lady of great wealth and beauty soon after his visit to her, and she felt grieved, when she reflected upon the unmanly manner in which he had conducted towards her.  She had conversed freely with Alfred, and laying all the circumstances of the case before him, told him she should respect him while she lived, but was fully sensible her blighted heart never could know another earthly love.

“And while the lamp of life continues to burn,” she added, “I wish to direct my thoughts to Heaven, and prepare for that change that is before me.  Death, Alfred, will soon claim me for his bride; he, at least, will not prove recreant to his trust.”

Alfred kissed her pale cheek, and looked tenderly upon her, feeling that her presages were indeed too true.

She was soon removed to the home of her mother, whose heart yearned towards her dying child with the affection of a true mother.  As Annie’s health declined rapidly, and the things of earth became more dim and shadowy, the heavenly became more distinct and glorious.

“O, Ellen,” she would say, “how precious at such a time as this, is the presence of the Saviour, who condescends to minister to us in our necessities.  O, Ellen, do seek an interest in his dying love.  You will be the only remaining one, soon.  Father, Matilda, and Willie have long since passed from earth, and soon—­very soon, I must join them in the spirit land.  Oh, mother, do try by repentance and faith, to meet us there, so that we may be a united family in heaven, though we have been divided upon earth.  As I now stand upon the brink of the grave, looking back upon life, and forward to the future life, I feel like the shipwrecked mariner, who has entered the haven of peace, after the winds and the storms have subsided, and the tumultuous tossings of the waves have ceased.  For, oh, this