“Will you not go to bed, dearest Emmeline? it is so late, and you have been so fearfully agitated to-day.  Look up and speak to me, my own dear cousin, or I shall fancy you are hurt with me for permitting so many hours to pass without coming near you, when I knew you were in suffering.  Oh, you know not how I longed to come, but my aunt said you had entreated to be left alone.  I stood for some minutes by your door, but all was so still, I thought I should disturb you did I enter.  You do not accuse me of unkindness, Emmeline?”

Housed by her cousin’s affectionate words and imploring voice, Emmeline resisted not her embrace, but clung to her in silence.

“You are ill, you are very ill, dearest, dearest Emmeline; do not sit up thus; for my sake, for your mother’s sake, try if sleep will not ease this aching head,” exclaimed Ellen, much alarmed at the burning heat and quick throbbing of Emmeline’s forehead, as it rested on her shoulder.

“I cannot sleep, Ellen, it is useless to attempt it; I feel as if my eyes would never close again; as if years had passed over my head since last night.  I thought I could not be more miserable than I was when—­when we parted, and as I have been since; but that was nothing—­nothing to this.  I thought I had not indulged in hope, for I knew that it was vain, but now, now I feel I must have done so, and it is its utter, utter annihilation that bows me to the earth.  Oh, why am I so changed, I who was once so glad, so free, so full of hope and happiness, looking forward to days as bright as those that fled; and now what am I, and what is life? a thing from which all happiness has flown, but clothed in darker shadows, from its contrast with the past.”

“Oh, do not say so, dearest,” replied Ellen, affected almost to tears by the despairing tone in which these words were said.  “The blessing, the comfort of your parents, your brothers, of all who know you as you are, do not say your life will be without joy; its most cherished flower, its most precious gem may have passed away, but others will spring up in time, to fill that yearning void.  You, whose presence ever brings with it such enjoyment to others, oh, you too will be blessed.  You cannot long continue miserable, when you feel the power you have of making so many of your fellow-creatures happy.  You are ill, exhausted now, and therefore all around you looks so full of gloom and pain, yet when this shall have passed, you will not reject the comfort that remains.  Have you not an approving conscience to support you, the consciousness that you have proved your love and gratitude to the parents you so fondly love? and think you He, who looks with an eye of favour on the faintest effort of His creatures, made for His sake, and in His spirit, will permit this strength to pass unaided?  No, dearest, He will assist and strengthen you; He can take even from this bitter trial its sting.”

“I know it, I feel it,” murmured Emmeline, still clinging to her cousin, as if she found comfort in her presence and her words.  “I know well that this trial in itself is as nothing compared with those endured at this very hour by thousands of my fellow-creatures, and knowing this makes me the more wretched, for if I am thus repining and miserable, how dare I hope my prayers will be heard?”