She climbed slowly up the narrow stairs to her room, and shaded the lamp that it might not disturb Polly's troubled sleep,--poor Polly, who would be an invalid for life. Then she sat down with a sigh of relief to read Belle's last letter. It had been a hard day, her step-mother had been more than usually restless, and the farm-work had been very heavy, for Martha Spriggs was home on a visit; every nerve in her body seemed to quiver with the strain. 'My dearest Paul,' Belle wrote, 'I can hardly see for crying, but I promised her that you should know at once. 'Tryphosa went away from us to "the other shore" last night. We were all there--her "inner circle" as she used to call us--all except you, and she seemed to miss you so. I never knew her to grow fond of any one in so short a time, but she took you right into her heart from the first. If I had not loved you so much I should have been jealous, but who could be jealous of you, you precious, brave saint? 'I have heard of the gate of heaven, but last night we were there. 'Dick was supporting her in his arms, poor Dick, he was so fond of her, and it was so hard for her to breathe--and we were all gathered round her, our hearts breaking to think it was the last time. She has suffered terribly lately, but at the last the pain left her, and she lay with the very rapture of heaven on her dear face, talking so brightly of how we should do after she had gone. It was just as if she were going on a pleasure trip, and we were to follow later. She turned to me with her lovely eyes all aglow with joy, and said:-- '"Give my Bible to the dear child in the valley" (that was what she always called you), "and tell her 'the miles to heaven are but short and few.'" 'She had a message for us all, and then, suddenly, just as the dawn broke, a great light swept over her face and she turned her head and whispered, "Jesus!" just as if He were close beside her, and then--she was gone. 'I shall never forget it. I have always thought of Death as the King of Terrors, but last night it was the coming of the Bridegroom for His own.' With a low cry Pauline's head dropped. There could never be anyone just like 'my lady,' and she had gone away. The hours passed silently, as she sat benumbed in the grasp of her great sorrow. Suddenly she sprang up. Her father was calling her from the foot of the stairs. 'Mother's had a bad turn. Send Stephen for the doctor, and come, quick!' She hurried down, and mechanically heated water, and did what she could to help the stricken woman, but before the doctor could reach the house, the Angel of Death had swept over the threshold, and Pauline and her father were left alone. * * * * * 'Here's a letter for yer, Pawliney. Don't yer wish yer may git it?' and Lemuel, the irrepressible, waved it at her tantalisingly from the top of the tall hickory, where he had perched himself, like the monkey that he was.