“But, Ellen, it is growing late, and you will be subject to remark.” “Lucy,” she continued, “it is well to regard the world’s opinion when it combats not with duty, but if the world remark unjustly, when I do my duty, be it even so. But what say you, uncle, shall I not stay?” “Ellen, my child,” said Mr. Norton, “I think with Lucy, you had better not stay.” “Oh! uncle,” cried Ellen, her eyes filling with tears, “think, for one moment, if this were your own son. Think if it were Lucy or myself, dying alone, without one being to pity, or hand a drop of cold water to soothe the parched lips—and in its last agonies, when the poor soul is about to take its flight, perhaps to the presence of an offended God, without one sympathizing soul to breathe a prayer for mercy!” And here, overcome by her feelings, she bowed her head upon his arm and wept. “My noble girl!” said Mr. Norton, folding her to his heart, “you shall not only stay, but Lucy and myself will stay with you.” At length, raising her head, she said—“This place, uncle, is cold and damp, and would, I fear, increase your rheumatism—and Cousin Lucy, you know, dear uncle, is not strong; and I fear his sufferings might affect her too sensibly. But I am well and healthy, and if you will send nurse and John to me, I will watch here to-night, if Mr. Barker will permit.” “You shall send for no one,” said Mr. Barker, much affected. “Mary and myself will share your labors. You have taught us our duty, Miss Lincoln.” * * * * * As a fragrant honeysuckle raised its tiny head to the soft caress of the dewy night winds, a rude blast swept it from its trellised home, through an open window, until caught in the ample folds of a snowy curtain. The unbidden breeze extinguished a flickering light, rousing the nurse from her recumbent position beside a couch whereon reposed a pale unconscious form. Re-lighting the taper, she advanced to close the window, and hastily throwing aside the curtain, the little floweret found a resting-place below, upon the bosom of a sweet bouquet formed of its beauteous sisters. And, as the little flower-spirit gazed upon the sleeper’s form, the same mysterious atmosphere was there that erst had hovered round the fairy child, but greatly changed. No longer basked in golden beams the brilliant beings of the mind, nor those of flesh wove chains; but with each other waged a mortal strife. Among the latter might another form be seen, grim, shadowy, and severe. Within his hand a barbed shaft he bore, and whatsoever it rested on was rendered powerless. Above, far in the hazy atmosphere, there shone a radiant light! mysteriously beautiful and fair it seemed; too pure for earth’s conception—and there was seen an angel form bearing a golden vessel. And the little spirit asked the angel guide, who with uplifted pinions, looks of love, and rapturous adoration, gazed on that glorious vision—what these things meant.