“My God, thou readest my heart!  Thou knowest how, day by day, I have striven to love thee more and serve thee better.  Yet, oh, Father of mercies! my soul is tortured with unutterable agony!  Oh! on the verge of the tomb, my heart still clings to earth and its joys.  Look down in thy mercy upon me, and help me to fix my thoughts on heaven and thee.  For long I have known the vanity of my hope, and the deceitfulness of human things; yet I could not tear away the pleasing image, and turn to thee alone for comfort.  Oh, may peace be my portion the few days I have to live, and when death comes, be thou with me, my God, to comfort and take me soon to my home above.”

She sank back in very weariness.  “Oh, Frank, how could you so mistake me?—­you whom I have loved so long, how could you believe I loved another?”

* * * * *

In the clear sunny light of morning, how cheerful all things looked; and to a heart at peace with God, nature seemed rejoicing.  The deep blue vault arching inimitably above—­the musical murmuring of the creek, as it rushed along its rocky bed—­the mosquit, bent and glittering with its frosty mantle, blended with the blazing camp-fire and the busy hum of preparation for the day, stole pleasingly into the heart.  All the party, save Mary, stood about the fire, warming their fingers and chatting on the various occurrences of their long journey.  All paused to welcome the invalid, as she joined them with a slow, feeble step; yet she looked better than she had done since leaving her home.  Restlessly she had tossed on her hard couch, and now the hectic flush mantled the thin cheek and brightened the deep blue eyes.  The warm congratulations of her friends on her improved appearance brought a sad smile to her lip, and the expression of Dr. Bryant’s countenance told her that he at least realized her danger.  Never had Florence looked more beautiful, as the clear cold air brought the glow to her cheek, added to the effect of her mourning dress and the expression of quiet happiness, imparting an indescribable charm to her lovely features.

“As you now stand, Miss Florence, looking so earnestly toward the east, you seem to me a perfect realization of Willis’s Jephtha’s Daughter: 

  “’She stood before her father’s gorgeous tent,
  To listen for his coming.  Her loose hair
  Was resting on her shoulder, like a cloud
  Floating around a statue, and the wind
  Just swaying her light robe, revealed a shape
  Praxiteles might worship: 
  Her countenance was radiant with love: 
  She looked to die for it—­a being whose
  Whole existence was the pouring out
  Of rich and deep affections.’”

As he looked upon her these lines were uttered half unconsciously; and then turning to Mary, he gently asked if he might speak what was passing in his mind.

“Certainly, Frank—­continue your quotation; the lines never seemed so beautiful before;” said Mr. Stewart, glancing at Florence as he spoke.