A nameless chill ran through poor Susan's frame. She dared not touch her mother's hand. She rose from her knees, and tottered back to her husband. "I wish you would come to mother," she said; "she is very still. Mother is very still and very pale," she added, in a voice scarcely audible. Susan's looks were ghastly. Mr. Otley hastily placed the sleeping infant on the bed, and followed Susan. The truth was at once evident! "Your mother's prayers have been heard, dear Susan; she has not seen another sun rise, she has not seen the sun which now shines upon her. Her troubles are over, and we should thank God for his mercy to her!" And the time did come when Susan was able thus to feel; when she was able to rejoice that her mother's humble prayer had thus been granted; when she learned to look upon its accomplishment as an earnest that the spirits of her parents were enjoying the reward of their piety, and their submission. But, at first, nature had its course, and she could but weep for that dear mother who had supported her under her heavy affliction, consoled her in her sorrows, tended her in her helplessness. Nor did her husband oppose the grief which was so natural: he wept with her; and she felt the holy tie which bound them together for weal and for woe, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, become more closely riveted as she clung to him for support, as she turned to him as her only earthly comforter. The neighbours again assembled. The two corpses were decently laid out in the same chamber which for so many years they had inhabited; and all who had known them in life, came to have one last sight of Nicholas and Sarah Foster. Susan was soothed by this mark of respect to those whom she had loved so well; and she was gratified when, among the rest, George Wells mounted the narrow stairs to look once more upon the well-known faces of the departed. She wept when she heard him sob, as he came down again, and when he wrung her hand as he hurried by through the little kitchen where she sat in deep but gentle grief. She wished not that he should cherish the recollection of herself; but any slight to the memory of her parents would have been bitter, coming from him whom they had once treated as a son. One funeral service was performed over the venerable couple; one grave received their mortal remains; one stone still marks the spot where they repose; and together, we may well believe their spirits mounted to those regions where suffering and sorrow are unknown. END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. VOLUME THE THIRD. BLANCHE. CHAPTER I. The hidden traynes I know, and secret snares of love; How soon a look will prynte a thoughte, that never may remove. Lord Surrey.