"He has already done so," she added, her whole face beaming. "I never felt so sure that he has forgiven my self-will; my disregard of all authority; my many sins against his long-suffering kindness, until I have sat here day after day and watched my little Rose, growing to be an angel, as Bridget says. I could never have borne it without his help. You have lost three babies Dr. Gilbert, and you know how easy it would be for me to give up every comfort I have in the world if I might keep her; but by his help I can say, 'She is thine dear Father, thine for life or death.'" Dr. Gilbert kneeled to offer up a petition for continued support to the mother, and prayed that the suffering so meekly endured by the little one, might be blessed to her infantile advancement in divine grace; and then went home to tell his wife that her fears for their young friend were needless; that he had learned a lesson from her which he hoped never to forget. He had scarcely concluded his relation of Gerty's faith in God's love; and her sweet submission to his will, though it was to take from her the dearest object she had in life, when a hurried ring announced the family physician. "I have just come," he exclaimed, with a suspicious moisture in his eye, "from the house of Mr. Dudley. Will you, Mrs. Gilbert, be a mother to that poor child in her sorrow. Her babe is dying and Bridget is wailing over it in frantic grief. I shall ride to Mr. Dudley's office on my way back, and send him home. Nothing but the recollection of her mute sorrow keeps me from calling him some hard names." "Come, mother," said Marion tearfully, "let's go at once." When they reached the chamber of death, little Rose had plumed her wings and was taking her flight from earth to her home in the skies. The Doctor had persuaded Gerty to lay her on the couch; and she knelt by the side, one finger closely clasped in the tiny fingers; while the violet eyes, so wishful and wondering, were fastened on the dear face upon which they had never seen a frown. "It was the most affecting sight I ever witnessed," wrote Marion afterwards to Mr. Wallingford, "to see Gerty smiling on her treasured one, that it might not be frightened by her tears, when her heart was nigh to breaking. This passage of Scripture, 'Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee,' came home to me with greater force than I had ever felt it before." Just as the child ceased to breathe. Mr. Dudley rung the bell with a loud, quick jerk and hurriedly mounted the stairs. Gertrude did not seem to hear him. Her tearless eyes were fixed on the marble countenance; her hand still grasped in the stiffening fingers. "Good by, darling," she whispered, bending over and imprinting a long, long kiss on the cold, pale lip.