"For two whole years I did not see these dear, dear friends, while I lived upon the thought of them--alas! when have I ceased to do that?--I wrote constantly and received letters. Those dictated by Mrs. Rivers, traced by her sweet daughter's hand, were full of all that generous benevolence, and enlightened sensibility which rendered her the very being to instruct and rule me; while the playful phrases of Alithea--her mention of the spots we had visited together, and history of all the slight events of her innocent life, breathed so truly of the abode of peace from which they emanated, that they carried the charm of a soft repose even to my restless spirit. A year passed, and then tidings of misery came. Mrs. Rivers was dying. Alithea wrote in despair--she was alone--her father distant. She implored my assistance--my presence. I did not hesitate. Her appeal came during the period that preceded an examination; I believed that it would be useless to ask leave to absent myself, and I resolved at once to go without permission. I wrote a letter to the master, mentioning that the sickness of a friend forced me to this step; and then, almost moneyless and on foot, I set out to cross the country. I do not record trivialties--I will not mention the physical sufferings of that journey, they were so much less than the agony of suspense I suffered, the fear that I should not find my maternal friend alive. Life burnt low indeed--when I, at last, stepped within the threshold of her sick chamber; yet she smiled when she saw me, and tried to hold out her hand--one already clasped that of Alithea. For hours we thus watched her, exchanging looks, not speech. Alithea, naturally impetuous, and even vehement, now controlled all sign of grief, except the expression of wo, that took all colour from her face, and clouded her brow with anguish. She knelt beside her mother--her lips glued to her hand, as if to the last to feel her pulse of life, and assure herself that she still existed. The room was darkened; a broken ray tinged the head of the mourner, while her mother lay in shadow--a shadow that seemed to deepen as the hue of death crept over her face; now and then she opened her eyes--now and then murmured inarticulately, and then she seemed to sleep. We neither moved--sometimes Alithea raised her head and looked on her mother's countenance, and then, seeing the change already operated, it drooped over the wan hand she held. Suddenly there was a slight sound--a slight convulsion in the fingers. I saw a shade darken over the face--something seemed to pass over, and then away--and all was marble still--and the lips, wreathed into a smile, became fixed and breathless. Alithea started up, uttered a shriek, and threw herself on her mother's body--such name I give--the blameless soul was gone for ever.