"That I am going to begin to live in earnest soon, that is it; this earth life has only been a half-dying sort of life. I have never been able to do as other girls did, but it will be changed soon, and I shall begin to live thoroughly—think of it, Mabel—to live, to live!" said Isabel exultantly. "But, my darling, I don't understand," said her cousin, wiping away the fast-falling tears; "how can you know this?" "The voice has told me—the Seed, and the Word, and the Light, and the Voice—they all mean the same thing, Mrs. Barker says. And so you see I cannot be mistaken, for God Himself has told me that I am going home soon. I shall not get stronger, as dear papa hopes, but weaker and weaker until the end comes." "Then why not have the physician at once? He might recommend something that would do you good." But Isabel shook her head. "He would tell papa to take me away to Nice, or Mentone, or some of those places, and I want to die at home, with you and papa and everybody that loves me. You will stay with me to the very last, won't you, Mabel?" "Yes, yes. But, oh, what have I done?" exclaimed Mabel, wringing her hands in agony. "Nothing, dear. That little cold I caught did not cause this. I have been learning to know it all the summer. I have been just slipping away for a long time, I think—ever since my cough got worse in the spring, but the last few days I have known it would be soon now." Mabel sat crying silently by her cousin's couch. Oh how bitterly she regretted urging her cousin to go to church now, and the pride and jealousy of Mrs. Barker that led to it! She had succeeded in persuading herself at the time that as it was a good thing to go to church, therefore it must be good for her and Isabel to go. But no such sophistry would avail her now. It might be, as Isabel said, that this had not caused the more serious part of her illness, but she believed herself and she knew her uncle and aunt also believed, that this had been the active cause of arousing all the more serious mischief. Poor Mabel! She was indeed to be pitied, and the more, perhaps, that for the last few months she had set herself steadily to the task of rooting out the seeds of pride that hindered the growth of the good seed in her heart. She had been more pleasant and yielding with Julia, been less watchful for any little affront that might be offered to herself, and more guarded in her own behaviour lest she should offend. And that this should happen now, just when she thought she was gaining a victory over herself, was indeed a trial and mystery to her.