She was placed in her old bed, endeared by so many precious memories, where she could see the setting sun, and by his resplendent glories be reminded of the Sun of Righteousness in whose effulgent beams her soul would bask for ever and ever. Oh, no! there was no terror in the thought of death; the language of her heart was, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly." As she lay reposing on her spotless couch, her cheek rivalling the whiteness of her pillow, she clasped her hands, exclaiming,— "How good God is! Think of my being allowed to come home, to have my own bed! You were so thoughtful, dear friend, to ask for that favor. This room has been like heaven to me. I am afraid I ought not to be so happy." She glanced wistfully in her companion's face, who understood the appeal and answered, warmly, "God has forgiven the past, dear. We are told to 'forget the things that are behind, and press forward.' You have given that burden to the Saviour; don't take it back again: it shows distrust of His loving care for those you have committed to Him." "If I could only know before I die that he is safe—I mean that he has accepted Christ,—I would ask no more. Poverty, even want, I do not care for. Poverty brought me here, where I found my precious, waiting Saviour; but oh, if I could know that in his wanderings God's spirit has led him into the truth, how I would praise His name to all eternity!" An expression of holy rapture beamed from every feature. Her friend gazed with glistening eyes. Softly laying her hand on the head of the dying girl, she repeated the words, "who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." Rising, she pressed her lips to the forehead of the sufferer, whispered, "I shall come again tomorrow," and left the room. In the morning Stella found herself so much refreshed by sleep that when the chaplain came into the ward she requested the privilege of having private communion administered to her. This gentleman, Rev. Mr. Owen, was not a stranger to her. It was his faithful words which had cut so deep into her heart that for weeks her soul writhed with self-inflicted torture. It was a sermon he preached one Sunday when she was in the chapel which brought her to the feet of Jesus, clothed and in her right mind. The text was this, "If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." How quickly the gracious promise had been fulfilled in her case! Her heart, which had hardened to flint while cherishing anger toward one whom she believed had injured her, grew tender and loving under the softening influence of the spirit of forgiveness. No sooner did she cast away the vile serpent which had coiled itself so closely around her vitals as to crush out every vestige of affection, than the dove of peace flew down and nestled in her bosom.