The table was drawn nearer, materials for writing placed within reach, and Annie, after a wistful glance at her friend, left the chamber. If she could have looked back and seen the weary, tired, pained expression which came over her friend's face as she seized the pen, she might have doubted whether she was acting wisely to leave her. The note was quickly written, indeed the words were dashed off with a fierce energy, as though she doubted her ability to finish, unless at once. It read thus:— Mr. Harold Angus:— Life is uncertain. I hope to live to restore to you a packet from one whom I strongly suspect was dear to you. To find this package drove me home from Grantbury, where I first heard that which connected you in my thoughts with a young girl called Stella. I am not aware of its contents, and can only say now that Stella died of consumption at the Home for the Sick, loving and forgiving and blessing all those who had been dear to her. MARION HOWARD. Having sealed this, and written the address, she added this direction: "If I should die, please deliver this at once;" then, enclosing the whole in a blank envelope, she touched her hand-bell and requested Annie to place it in her desk. "I must rest my head now," she said; "but first, I want you to promise me that, in case anything should happen to me, you will forward any letters you may find in my desk. Don't look so frightened, dear. I shall try to get well, for I have a great deal to do, and life is so pleasant; but there are duties which I dared not defer." At this moment James knocked at the door, and passed in a letter just delivered by the postman. "It is Annie Asbury's handwriting," explained Marion, in a glad voice. "It will soothe me to sleep, perhaps. Annie is a dear child." The letter read thus:— DEAR MARION,— Imagine me sitting by the east window, where I can look out on the great elm-tree, and hear the robin-redbreasts as they are calling their mates to join them in a morning song. I wish you could see the grass. It looks greener than green, now that the sun is touching it. I guess somebody else is feasting his eyes on the emerald greensward (that's quoted), for I hear a curtain rolled up and window-sash raised, so I am going to quit this highfalutin style, and let my pen run on as it will; but, before I forget it, I must tell you that ever since Mr. Angus ran up to town the day he called to inquire for you there has been a change in him. Before that he had one of his worst attacks of depression, or dyspepsia, as Aunt Thankful calls them; but now he seems to have made up his mind not to give way. I don't mean that he is cheerful, and I don't know as I can explain what I do mean. You must see him, before you will understand. Last night, after prayers, ma must have noticed something different in him, for she went to him and held out her hand in that kind way of hers. "I thank you for your prayer," she said: "it has done me good."