"Thanks, my kind friend, and sorry I am for all the anxiety and uneasiness that I have given you." "Oh, I am repaid, or rather was pre-paid for all and more, you were so kind to me." Here Biddy entered, and I took down the Bible and read a few chapters from the book of Job. "What a comfort that book is to us," said Biddy. "Many's the time, Ann, that Miss Nancy read it to you, when you'd sit an' look so wandering-like; but you are well now, Ann, an' all will be right with us." "_All_ can never be, Biddy, as once it _was_," and I shook my head. "Oh, don't spake of it," and she wiped her moist eyes with her apron. Days and weeks passed on thus smoothly, during which time Louise came often to see us; but the fatal sorrow was never alluded to. By common consent all avoided it. Daily, hourly, Miss Nancy's health sank. I never saw the footsteps of the grim monster approach more rapidly than in her case. The wasting of her cheek was like the eating of a worm at the heart of a rose. Her bed was wheeled close to the fire, and I read, all the pleasant mornings, some cheerful book to her. Her brother came often, and sat with her through the evenings. Many of her friends and neighbors offered to watch with her at night; but she bade me decline all such kindness. "You and Biddy are enough. I want no others. Let me die calmly, in the presence of, my own household, with no unusual faces around," she said in a low tone. She talked about her death as though it were some long journey upon which she was about starting; gave directions how she should be shrouded; what kind of coffin we must get, tomb-stone, &c. She enjoined that we inscribe nothing but her age and name upon the tomb-stone. "I wish no ostentatious slab, no false eulogium; my name and age are all the epitaph I deserve, and all that I will have." Several ministers came to see her, and held prayer. She received them kindly, and spoke at length with some. "I shall meet the great change with resignation. I had hoped, Ann, to see you well settled somewhere in the North; but that will be denied me. In my will, I have remembered both you and Biddy. I have no parting advice for either of you; for you are both, though of different faith, consistent Christians. I hope we shall meet hereafter. You must not weep, girls, for it pains me to think I leave you troubled." When Biddy withdrew, she called me to her, saying, "Ann, I am feeble, draw near the bed whilst I talk to you. I hold here in my hand a letter from my nephew, Robert Worth." "Robert Worth? Why I--"