“No; the everlasting arms are underneath and around me, and He will never leave nor forsake.”

“‘Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints,’” said the pastor, taking the feeble hand in his turn.  “Fear not; you shall be more than conqueror through Him that loved us.”

“Yes, the battle is fought, the victory is won; and I hear Him saying to me, ‘Come up hither.’  Oh!  I shall be there very soon—­a sinner saved by grace.”

The pastor and elder withdrew, Mr. Travilla going with them to the door.  Elsie brought a cordial and held it to her mother’s lips, Mr. Dinsmore gently raising her head.  “Thank you both,” she said, with the courtesy for which she had ever been distinguished.  Then, as Mr. Dinsmore settled her more comfortably on her pillows, and Elsie set aside the empty cup, “Horace, my friend, farewell till we meet in a better land.  Elsie, darling,” laying her pale thin hand on the bowed head, “you have been a dear, dear daughter to me, such a comfort, such a blessing!  May the Lord reward you.”

Elsie had much ado to control her feelings.  Her father passed his arm about her waist and made her rest her head upon his shoulder.

“Mother, how are you now?” asked Mr. Travilla, coming in and taking his place on his wife’s other side, close by the bed of the dying one.

“All is peace, peace, the sweetest peace, I have nothing to do but to die, I am in the river, but the Lord upholdeth me with His hand, and I have almost reached the farther shore.”

She then asked for the babe, kissed and blessed it, and bade her son good-bye.

“Sing to me, children, the twenty-third psalm.”

Controlling their emotion by a strong effort, that they might minister to her comfort, they sang; the three voices blending in sweet harmony.

“Thank you,” she said again, as the last strain died away.  “Hark!  I hear sweeter, richer melody, the angels have come for me, Jesus is here.  Lord Jesus receive my spirit.”

There was an enraptured upward glance, an ecstatic smile, then the eyes closed and all was still; without a struggle or a groan the spirit had dropped its tenement of clay and sped away on its upward flight.

It was like a translation; a deep hush filled the room, while for a moment they seemed almost to see the “glory that dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.”  They scarcely wept, their joy for her, the ransomed of the Lord, almost swallowing up their grief for themselves.

But soon Elsie began to tremble violently, shudder after shudder shaking her whole frame, and in sudden alarm her husband and father led her from the room.

“Oh.  Elsie, my darling, my precious wife!” cried Travilla, in a tone of agony, as they laid her upon a sofa in her boudoir, “are you ill? are you in pain?”

“Give way, daughter, and let the tears come,” said Mr. Dinsmore, tenderly bending over her and gently smoothing her hair; “it will do you good, bring relief to the overstrained nerves and full heart.”