At length she became too weak to rise from her bed, except for a few moments—usually at the close of the day. One evening she was sitting supported by her lover. Lights had not yet been brought into the apartment. The beams of a full October moon streamed through the casement, and painted its outlines in silver upon the floor. They sat and gazed in silence upon its soft brightness. For a few moments she leaned upon him more heavily, as if in sleep; then partially raising herself, she said: “I saw many bright beings all clothed in that silver light, and they promised me that they would take care of you, and bring you to me.” “Where were you?” said he, a chill creeping over him as if the inhabitants of the spirit world were around him. She did not seem to hear his question, but continued—“Oh, it was beautiful—not an imperfect flower on all that plain—and such delicious gales—and such a firmament—and they looked upon me as the eyes of beloved friends, and I knew that they would watch over you for good.” “Where was this?” said Willard, almost with terror. Still she heeded him not. “The stream was as smooth as glass, and the moonbeams covered it with silver—it was wide, wide, and I could not see you. I looked in the far distance and saw a boat swiftly gliding toward me, and I knew you were in it, and were safe.” “You are dreaming, dearest.” She leaned more heavily upon him, and slept. He feared she was passing away. He tried to still his heart while he listened. He heard her gentle breathing. He laid his hand upon her heart. It still kept up its workings. He laid her as gently as one would lay an infant upon her bed, and summoned her attendants. She continued to sleep. The physician assured him that death, though near, was not yet at the door. The next morning revealed a marked change in the condition of the invalid. At first, she did not seem to recognize Carlton. The cloud, however, soon passed from her mind, and she gave him her usual smile and welcome. “I shall never rise from my bed again,” said she; “do not leave me except when I sleep. My mind begins at times to give way. Remember your promise to prepare to meet me in the better land.” “I will,” said he, nerving himself to composure for her sake. He then read the Scriptures to her, and, unasked, kneeled and offered a prayer in her behalf. Ere long the aged pastor of the village church entered the chamber. He had been absent some time on a visit of mercy to a prodigal son of one of his parishioners. He silently pressed the hand of Carlton, and passing to the bedside, impressed a kiss upon the forehead of Eliza. His experienced eye told him that the silver thread of life was well nigh broken. “You are on the verge of Jordan,” said he. “Yes,” was the calm reply. “Its waves are not rough?” “Calm and peaceful.” “You have no fears of death?” “None.” “Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. You can say Thy will be done?”