All day the good man's bodily life ebbed gently away. He spoke at intervals, as he had strength given him, words of affection, comfort and counsel to those around him. Just as the setting sun was pouring his last rays into the chamber Doctor Day laid his hand upon his child's head and blessed her. Then, closing his eyes, he murmured softly: "'Lord Jesus, into thy hands I resign my spirit:'" and with that sweet, deep, intense smile that had been so lovely in life--now so much lovelier in death--his pure spirit winged its flight to the realms of eternal bliss. CHAPTER XXX. THE ORPHAN. "Let me die, father! I fear, I fear To fall in earth's terrible strife!" "Not so, my child, for the crown must be won In the battle-field of Life." --_Life and Death._ "He has gone to sleep again," said Clara, with a sigh of relief. "He has gone to heaven, my child," said Marah Rocke, softly. The orphan started, gazed wildly on the face of the dead, turned ghastly pale and, with a low moan and suffocating sob, fell fainting into the motherly arms of Mrs. Rocke. Marah beckoned Traverse, who lifted the insensible girl tenderly in his arms and, preceded by his mother, bore her to her chamber and laid her upon the bed. Then Marah dismissed Traverse to attend to the duties owed to the remains of the beloved departed, while she herself stayed with Clara, using every means for her restoration. Clara opened her eyes at length, but in reviving to life also returned to grief. Dreadful to witness was the sorrow of the orphan girl. She had controlled her grief in the presence of her father and while he lingered in life, only to give way now to its overwhelming force. Marah remained with her, Holding her in her arms, weeping with her, praying for her, doing all that the most tender mother could do to soothe, console and strengthen the bleeding young heart. The funeral of Doctor Day took place the third day from his decease, and was attended by all the gentry of the neighboring town and county in their own carriages, and by crowds who came on foot to pay the last tribute of respect to their beloved friend. He was interred in the family burial ground, situated on a wooded hill up behind the homestead, and at the head of his last resting place was afterwards erected a plain obelisk of white marble, with his name and the date of his birth and death and the following inscription: "He is not here, but is risen." "When dear Clara comes to weep at her father's grave, these words will send her away comforted and with her faith renewed," had been Traverse Rocke's secret thought when giving directions for the inscription of this inspiring text. On the morning of the day succeeding the funeral, while Clara, exhausted by the violence of her grief, lay prostrate upon her chamber couch, Mrs. Rocke and Traverse sat conversing in that once pleasant, now desolate, morning reading-room.