But not so came he to young master. As a small-voiced angel, with blessings concealed beneath his shadowy wing, he came, the herald of better days to him! As a well-loved bridegroom to a waiting bride, was the angel of the tombs to that expectant spirit! 'Twas painful, yet pleasant, to watch with what patient courage he endured bodily pain. Often, unnoticed by him, did I watch, with a terrible fascination, the heroic struggle with which he wrestled with suffering and disease. Sad and piteous were the shades and inflections of severe agony that passed over his noble face! I recall now with sorrow, the memory of that time! How well, in fancy, can I see him, as he lay upon that downy bed, with his beautiful gold hair thrown far back from his sunken temples, his blue, upturned eyes, fringed by their lashes of fretted gold, and those pale, thin hands that toyed so fitfully with the drapery of the couch, and the restless, loving look which he so frequently cast upon each of the dear ones who drew around him. It must be that the "sun-set of life" gives us a keener, quicker sense, else why do we love the more fondly as the curtain of eternity begins to descend upon us? Surely, there must be a deeper, undeveloped sense lying beneath the surface of general feeling, which only the tightening of life's cords can reveal! He grew gentler, if possible, as his death approached. Very heavenly seemed he in those last, most trying moments! All that had ever been earthly of him, began to recede; the fleshly taints (if there were any) grew fainter and fainter, and the glorious spiritual predominated! Angel more than mortal, seemed he. The lessons which his life taught me have sunk deep in my nature; and I can well say, "it was good for him to have been here." It was a few weeks after the death of Amy, when Miss Tildy was overlooking the bureau that contained the silver and glass ware, she gave a sudden exclamation, that, without knowing why, startled me very strangely. A thrill passed over my frame, an icy contraction of the nerves, and I knew that something awful was about to be revealed. "What _is_ the matter with you?" asked Miss Jane. Still she made no reply, but buried her face in her hands, and remained thus for several minutes; when she did look up, I saw that something terrible was working in her breast. "Culprit," was written all over her face. It was visible in the downcast terror of her eye, and in the blanched contraction of the lips, and quivered in the dilating nostril, and was stamped upon the whitening brow! "What ails you, Tildy?" again inquired her sister. "_Why, look here!_" and she held up, to my terror, the two missing forks!