It was here that the scene, which the artist has so touchingly illustrated upon the opposite page, transpired. Turn your thoughts a moment from this page to that and look upon the picture. Turn back to Chapter VI., "The Home of Little Katy," and read over the story of the death of that poor innocent, and you will better appreciate the description and illustration of that home and that dying scene. 'Twas then and there that that fallen mother was touched by a power greater than human strength--'twas then as she knelt over her dead child, she had said, "never, never, never, will I touch that accursed poison cup. Oh, God," she prayed, "take my child, my wronged and murdered child, and I will not repine; I will thank thee; I will praise thy name as my mother taught me to praise thee; as she loved and blessed, and prayed for me all her life, even after my fall, although hastened to her grave by my sin. Oh, my mother, forgive me; oh, my child, forgive me; oh, my God, forgive me, but let me live to repent, and be a mother and a blessing to my living child. Oh, my sister, where are you, cold and unforgiving sister, but for you I had not been here--why could you not forgive. Oh, God, canst thou?" What was that still small voice that seemed to say in our ears, as she ceased speaking, and lay sobbing upon the breast of little Katy? "Yes, sister, he can, he will, he has; rise, thy sins are forgiven thee." Did she hear it too? Else, why did she instantly rise up, with dry eyes and calm, almost happy features? It was then that I gained from her the secret of her sister's name, upon a promise that I did not keep--I could not keep--it was not my duty to keep it. But where has she gone? Has her sister got my letter?--has her heart at last been touched?--has she taken her away? If so, why has she not told me where? Long days and nights of anxiety have come and gone, and she comes not back to her home. Has despair worked its wonted result, and does the ocean wave roll over the mother and her child, in a suicide's watery grave? "What would I give to know?" "You must wait," said our sympathizing friend. Yes, we must wait. Yet "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick." "Have you been to see the woman who sent for you to-day?" "No! It is nobody that I know. Some mistake." Yes, it was some mistake. "But she sent her name by the black woman, when she came the second time." "I know it, but it is no one that I know. The name is utterly unknown to me. It is a French name. Some mistake." There was a mistake.