"I hear old John outside," said Amy, suddenly, though her sister could hear nothing, "but I cannot see him," and her eyes filled with tears, "but will you tell him to let no one else come, for I want to be alone a little while, I feel better with you. Ah, poor mamma," she added, thoughtfully, "but I cannot see her either, to-night." Old John was at the door as Amy had said, and Mabel telling him to keep any one from coming in, as Amy was going to sleep, returned to her and then began the evening hymn. Sweetly did those beautiful lines sound, breathed in low and trembling melody, but she had scarcely finished the third verse when sobs stopped her utterance, she was, however, trying to go on, but Amy laid her hand upon her lips. "Don't go on, Mabel, dear, I shall soon hear angels' music. They are waiting for me now, but I must go alone," she said, "and your dear voice is the last sound I wished to hear on earth. Do not leave me," she added, seeing her attempt to rise, "you have done all that can be done for me, and you must not go away now." Mabel saw indeed that it was too late to call for assistance, and she scarcely breathed, lest a word might escape her ear. "You have been very kind to me," murmured Amy, in faint accents, "and it is very hard to part, but listen, listen," said she, holding up her tiny hand; then, as if the sound were dying away, her hand fell softly down, and all was over. A holy stillness stole over the chamber of death, unbroken by a sound, for Mabel's anguish was too great for tears. The old gardener had seated himself on the door step, and tears chased each other down his weather beaten cheeks, as he listened to Mabel's low singing, and remembered how often the voices of both had mingled in gay and thrilling merriment, which had made his old heart dance, when he had pretended not even to hear them. "Ah," thought he, "let the old house burn since they that made it glad are going or gone." But then came thoughts of the sunny garden, made more pleasant by the cheerful faces and glad voices now hushed by death or sorrow, his grief burst out afresh, and, burying his head in, his knees, he gave himself up to old recollections, heedless of every thing about him. END OF VOL. I. T. C. Newby, Printer, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square. Transcriber's Note "_" surrounding a word or phrase represents the use of italics in the original text. Obvious typographical errors were corrected, as listed below. Other apparent inconsistencies and errors have been retained, including a mixture of British and American word usages. Perceptible missing or incorrect punctuation or capitalization has been silently restored and hyphenation has been made consistent. Period spellings, punctuation and grammatical uses have been kept.