At the moment the first gleam of reason returned, I observed persons carrying my sister’s corpse from the room, in a coffin composed of a few rough boards, which seemed to be clumsily nailed together. I recognized their object at once, and entreated that I might be allowed to give her one last kiss before they consigned her to the grave. With a little grumbling they removed the lid, and as I pressed my lips upon her cheek I truly envied her condition. I then asked for a ringlet of her hair, but I was told that they had all been cut off and sold to a hair-dresser to meet the expenses of her funeral. A choking sensation now seized me, I fell back and buried my face in the bed-clothes, and my dead sister was removed. In a little while I felt somewhat relieved. My eyes—those safety-valves to a sorrow-stricken heart—became suffused with tears for the first time since my illness. I also now experienced that a some thing was wanting; my conscience troubled me, but I could not tell why or wherefore. I also startled myself by conjecturing that my misfortunes were intended for some wise purpose, and that that purpose had some reference to myself. I reviewed my past life, but I could not then remember any act of mine which deserved punishment; indeed, I felt a degree of complacency, because I fancied I was so much better than many whom I remembered, and had done my duty as a daughter, a sister, and as a friend. But the feelings which produced these inquiries wore off with my recovery; it was reserved for a future period to make a deeper impression. Some of the people of the house extended a rough kind of sympathy to me, and Mrs. Grassett continued a constant attendant. One day she mentioned the death of the kind old French priest who used to visit us, and added that an English clergyman, who visited the poor in the neighborhood, had made inquiries and expressed a desire to see me. I may here mention that my father descended from a Huguenot family, and though they felt themselves obliged to conceal their opinions after the edict of Nantes, yet they continued to disseminate them privately among their household. I felt, therefore, little compunction in accepting this gentleman’s offer, particularly at that moment, when I very much needed some one with whom I could converse. On the day after I consented to see him he called upon me. His name was Bonner. In appearance he was about fifty, with a pale, expressive and benevolent face. He spoke French fluently, and alluded to my recent loss with much delicacy and feeling. Although I was then unable to comprehend all he said upon religion, I soon felt at home with his manner, and desired him to visit me as often as possible.