The maid covered her moistened cheek, and sobbed loudly.  I was fully convinced that she was suffering from the reaction consequent upon extreme joy.  I was rather relieved than distressed by her burst of feeling, and I did not attempt for a time to check her tears.

“Tell me, dear Caleb,” she said herself at length, “if I were to lose you—­if it were to please Heaven to take you suddenly from this earth, would it not be sinful to murmur at his act?  Would it not be my duty to bend to his decree, and to prepare to follow you?”

“You would submit to such a trial as a Christian woman ought.  I am sure you would, dear Ellen—­parted, as we should be, but for a season, and sure of a reunion.”

“And would you do this?” enquired the maiden quickly.  “Oh, say that you would, dear Caleb!  Let me hear it.”

“You are agitated, dearest.  We will not talk of this now.  There is grace in heaven appointed for the bitterest seasons of adversity.  It does not fail when needed.  Let us pray that the hour may be distant which shall bring home to either so great a test of resignation.”

“Yes, pray, dear Stukely; but, should it come suddenly and quickly—­oh, let us be prepared to meet it!”

“We will endeavour, then; and now to a more cheerful theme.  Do we go to Dr Mayhew’s, as proposed?  We shall spend a happy day with our facetious, but most kind-hearted friend.”

Ellen burst again into a flood of tears.

“What is the matter, love?” I exclaimed.  “Confide to me, and tell the grief that preys upon your mind.”

“Do not be alarmed, Stukely,” she answered rapidly; “it may be nothing after all; but when I woke this morning—­it may, I hope for your sake that it is nothing serious—­but my dear mother, it was the commencement of her own last fatal illness.”

She stopped suddenly, as if her speech had failed her—­coughed sharply, and raised her handkerchief to her mouth.  I perceived a thick, broad spot of BLOOD, and shuddered.

“Do not be frightened, Stukely,” she continued, shocked fearfully herself.  “I shall recover soon.  It is the suddenness—­I was unprepared.  So it was when I awoke this morning—­and it startled me, because I heard it was the first bad symptom that my poor mother showed.  Now, I pray you, Stukely, to be calm.  Perhaps I shall get well; but if I do not, I shall be so happy—­preparing for eternity, with you, dear Caleb, at my side.  You promised to be tranquil, and to bear up against this day; and I am sure you will—­yes, for my sake—­that I may see you so, and have no sorrow.”

I took the dear one to my bosom, and, like a child, cried upon her neck.  What could I say?  In one moment I was a bankrupt and a beggar—­my fortunes were scattered to the winds—­my solid edifice as stricken by the thunder-bolt, and lay in ruins before me!  Was it real?

Ellen grew calmer as she looked at me, and spoke.