On the bosom of the dead, as she was being prepared for burial, was found the miniature of her mother, the birth-day gift of years ago.  The jewels were gone.  One by one they had been removed from their places, to answer the imperative demands of hunger and want.  But the face, the beloved face of the mother, had ever been pressed to the heart of the unhappy daughter.  And now, it was not to be removed, even by death itself; for the agonized father, beholding the evidence of Leah’s devotion, said, “As she kept it in life, so shall she keep it in death.  Place it again on her bosom.  Thank God, I shall soon sleep beside her in the quiet burying-ground of my people; and may the eternal God forgive my sin toward her.”

The end.