"Don't cry," she said, softly. "I am only going before, as papa did. I think I saw him while I slept, and I am not afraid. It is not a dark river, mama, but beautiful and bright, and nothing can happen, for God stands there and smiles. Please don't cry, or shut the windows; let the sunshine come in, and be glad that I will never suffer any more. Lift me up, mama." Mrs. Dering did so, and with her head pillowed on that dear breast, Ernestine sank to sleep like a child, breathing softly; while the shadows fell, and no one stirred. But the early moon rose slowly, and lighted the room, and as she drew her last breath, with a fluttering little sigh, it fell across her face, pure and sweet, and touched the withered rose-bud, lying on the pillow. CHAPTER XXIV. TWO SECRETS. Joy and sorrow, laughter and tears come and go and mingle as one in memory of the past. Between _now_ and _then_, time weaves a veil, misty with tears of our sorrow, and diamond dusted with the bright laughter of our joy, and as we look through it, on the path that weaves our footsteps, the sunshine and shadows, that have fallen thereon, mingle and soften each other, so that neither the brilliant light of one nor the saddening shade of the other can pain our eyes, that look back, in wistful, happy memory. In the fresh, pure air, that follows rain on a summer day, Kat was leaning from the window, and watching the sun go slowly down behind the hills; while slender spires of light shot up into the hazy atmosphere, and pierced the flitting clouds. She was gazing idly, with eyes in which many thoughts lay dreamily, and the slight smile that touched her lips came, perhaps, from something in the letter that lay open in her lap, or maybe from the distant view of a basket buggy, drawn by a white pony, coming slowly down the road, as though the riders were in no haste. At any rate, she smiled; and it crept from the corners of her roguish mouth up to her eyes, and made her face very attractive, especially as she leaned it against the vines that crept in at the window, and looked thoughtfully down at the open letter. It was one such as she received very often now-a-days, as a very large pack, all of that year's date, much worn, and tied with a blue ribbon, would testify. Most of them were dashed boldly off on large office paper, with "Kathie dear," flourished into one corner, and news of all kinds, inquiries and odds and ends, filling several sheets, and "Yours, Ralph," in business scrawls at the bottom. But this was different. It was on small note paper to begin with, much more carefully written than usual, and contained no address whatever, simply starting off with what the writer had to say, and only filling three pages. There was one particular place where Kat's eyes lingered, and where she smiled, very slowly, as though it was something not to be enjoyed fully, all at once; and we will look right over her shoulder and read it as she does again and again:--