In less than an hour from her receipt of the letter, Gertrude with her boy and accompanied by her faithful Bridget, were on their way to the landing to be in season for the twelve o'clock boat. If she were prospered she hoped to be in Philadelphia by seven o'clock at latest; and her whole soul went up to God in earnest prayer, that she might be in season. "Will she come?" This question had been repeated many times during the day; and now as twilight approached it was evident to all, that before the sun, whose rays were gilding the western horizon, should rise again, the soul of the sufferer would have fled away from earth, to his mansion in the skies. Suddenly a carriage is heard dashing through the street. It stops at the door, and a lady hurriedly alights, after directing the driver to ring the bell. Then a servant more leisurely follows, holding by the hand a lovely boy. "She has come," murmured Mrs. Dudley, bending over her dying son. "God be praised. I have nothing more to ask. Will you leave us alone?" The door softly opened and gentle steps advanced to the side of the bed. "Papa," said a sweet, childish voice, "I'm your little Paul. Mamma told me you were sick; and I wanted to come right off and see you." The father held the small, dimpled hand, and tried to articulate one word; but the emotions had been too much for his feeble frame, and for a few moments his paroxysms of distress were terrible to witness. But he did not lose his consciousness; and seemed so fearful Gertrude would take Paul from the room, that she bent over him, murmuring: "I will not leave you. It is hard not to be able to help you." He was soon relieved, and said panting: "It is all right. He," pointing upward, "orders every pang. I shall soon have a whole eternity to rest in." "My son," he repeated solemnly, placing his hand on the boy's head, "I prayed God to allow me to see you, and now I want to say, 'Fear God and keep his commandments.' This will render you happy in life and triumphant in death." He turned his dying eyes upon the weeping figure before him and said tenderly: "You will love to remember that you complied with the request of one who even in his dying hour, mourns over his own blindness, folly and guilt. Tell our boy to take your motto for his own and learn to render 'good for evil.'" These were his last words, though he retained his consciousness for an hour, and when repeatedly asked by Gertrude: "Is Christ precious? Does he give you peace?" there was a pressure of her hand. At a quarter before ten, the same night she arrived, the end came; the sick man quietly breathing fainter and fainter, like an infant going to rest. Standing there, gazing on those wan features, Gertrude's heart arose in gratitude to God, that out of death, eternal life had begun in the soul of the penitent believer; and she could almost hear the words of the Saviour, "'This day thou shalt be with me in paradise.'"