It was, therefore, without surprise that Elfie, when she went down stairs, found the pastor waiting in the hall. “Oh, Dr. Sales, I am so glad to see you! I had just come down to send for you,” she eagerly exclaimed. “How is our dear child this morning?” anxiously inquired the pastor. Elfie burst into tears. “Worse?” breathlessly demanded the old man. “Oh, how can I tell you? Heaven only knows! Her last paroxysm of fever and delirium was less violent; but then such powerful depletives have been used; and it has left her weak almost unto death. But she is conscious now, and has asked for you.” “Can you show me at once into her room?” “Oh yes, come,” said Elfie, softly leading the way upstairs and into Erminie’s chamber. Catherine still sat beside the bed fanning the sinking girl, who had again suddenly dropped into sleep or stupor;—it was impossible to say which. “You will not disturb her?” whispered Elfie, anxiously. “Certainly not. I will sit here quietly until she awakens or returns to consciousness,” replied the pastor, in a low tone. At a sign from Elfie the girl Catherine arose and left the room. And the pastor seated himself in the vacant chair, and took the palm leaf and fanned Erminie, while he watched for her awakening. And the room was very cool, shady, and quiet, and so the sleeper lay calmly reposing for nearly an hour, and then she softly opened her eyes and looked with a gentle, bewildered gaze upon the figure of the preacher seated by her bed. “Do you know me, my child?” whispered the pastor. She feebly moved her hand and smiled. “You sent for me, dear child,” went on Dr. Sales. She nodded, and then turned her eyes anxiously towards Elfie, who came and bent down to hear what Erminie should have to say. “Something to give me—” Erminie panted and stopped. —“Strength, do you mean, my dear?” inquired Elfie. Erminie nodded. Elfie poured out some liquid from a vial into a spoon and put it to her lips. Erminie swallowed with difficulty, but seemed to be revived by the dose. “Now, dear, go—and leave me—with my pastor—please,” she murmured. And Elfie gave the purport of these words to the pastor, and then left the room. Erminie turned her fading eyes upon the anxious face of her old friend. He stooped over her to hear what she might wish to say. “Dear friend, must I die?” she whispered. “I pray not—I earnestly pray not, my child,” answered the pastor, with ill-suppressed emotion. “But you believe that I must.” “No, no—” “Don’t try to deceive yourself or me, dear friend. You believe that I must die. All the others seem to know that I must. I see it in every face.” “My child, my child, the Lord of Heaven and earth is also the Lord of life and death. He is able to save to the uttermost the body as well as the soul. Pray and believe and live,” said the pastor, trying to control his agitation. “I would rather submit myself to His will. I do not fear death. But——”