“Am I not dying, Lizzie?” inquired Leah with a shudder, “I fear I cannot tell you all.  My time is so short.  But I could not die without one uttered word of thankfulness, without one kiss of recognition and love!  This, Lizzie dear, is the end of my unhappy life; this the end of the wrong-doing of others; this the end of disobedience-the bitter, bitter end.  It’s been a hard, hard struggle, Lizzie, between pride and love, for me to throw off my disguise; but love has at length triumphed, love for this sweet child,” she said, laying her hand tenderly upon her little daughter’s head.  “I could not die, and leave her entirely to strangers.  When I have told you all I can of my story, then I shall hope for mercy from you for this child.  It has seemed so dark and fearful to me, this untried, unknown life into which I must so soon enter!  God knows how I tremble in His presence.”

“Have you tried to pray, dear Leah?”

“Yes, dear; but still all was dark, dark, dark-is dark yet.”

“Be calm, dear, and let me listen to the story of your life.  Tell me what steps have led you at last to this strange end.  Be calm, and tell me slowly.  I would know it all.”

“Be patient then, and listen.  I’ll keep nothing back.  If God gives me strength to tell it, I’ll tell you all.”  Then faintly she began her sad narrative, and unreservedly unfolded the story of her life, from the unfortunate day of her marriage, on through each succeeding year of sorrow, till she came at last, tremulously, to its sad close.  Calmly she told how her father had discarded her; of the removal of her husband’s father to France, where his family still remained; of Emile’s misfortune, persecution, and forced desertion, of his innocence; of her hopeless longing to see him; of her despair as the conviction settled upon her that she could not hope to hear from him again; of the harrowing suspense that had slowly eaten out her life; of her penury and want—­“and now, thank God,” she said, “you will see the end.”

Lizzie wept at the story, and when it was ended, she said lovingly,

“Leah, dear, let me send for your father?  I know he would come.”

“Alas! the chillness of death is upon me, and the thought of dying without his forgiveness is terrible!  Would not his blessing dispel this awful gloom, dear Lizzie?  Ah! a soul in the presence of its God is a helpless, pitiable thing!”

“Our Father is a God of love and mercy, Leah; trust His goodness.”

“I prayed last night from my prayer-book, but still all was dark.  Won’t you pray, dear Lizzie?  Pray for my father to come, with forgiveness, and that his blessing may banish this gloom-this mysterious gloom.  Pray for me, Lizzie, pray for me now; and then you may send for him.  But stop!  My child!  Lizzie, my child!  What will become of her?  Will you not take her?  Will you not keep her?  Will you not love her for my sake?  I could not give her to another.  Tell me, dear.  It’s growing-oh! so chilly!”