"Yes, sir, all," she exclaimed, interrupting him. "You see I read Mr. Tracy's character correctly. "When will Frederic be back," she added, with some impatience. "Frank is in the city to attend to business." "Immediately, I should suppose. He sent for me to supply his pulpit next Sabbath." Helen found her aunt stronger than when she left home. She received her niece with tears of joy. And when Helen hung over her with words of love, said with emotion: "Dear child, I did not realize what your presence was to me until you went away." In the excitement of meeting old friends, Helen did not notice the change which had taken place in Mr. Knowles. The next morning she was much pained to see that he looked exceedingly feeble, and that his gait was less firm than when they parted. He explained his weakness by saying: "The late revelations concerning Mr. Tracy have shattered my nerves. I am an old man. I have lived more than the three score and ten years allotted to man. You know what the good book says, 'and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.'" Helen's eyes were dim as she pressed his hand. She had no voice to speak. "Yes, my dear child, I am near my end; or rather I am near the beginning of a new life; a life, as I humbly believe, with God in heaven. I am looking forward with bright anticipations to the hour when I shall receive my summons. I shall see my Saviour then, and unite in the wonderful song: 'Worthy the Lamb.'" "Do you think the saints are always engaged in singing?" timidly inquired Helen. "When papa died, I used to wonder how the good people employ their time in heaven." "My child, eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, the joys that are prepared for those who reach that happy place. But still, I think the children of God may form some conception of the employment and bliss. "When you first gave yourself up to the Saviour's care, trusting him to do for you what you found you could not do for yourself, did you not then, and have you not since, at favored intervals, enjoyed precious views of the Father's condescension, in giving his Son to die for the guilty? Of the boundless love which led the Lord of glory to resign his throne, and come to earth to bear in his own body the sins of all mankind? Have you never realized, if but for a moment, what priceless treasures of grace and blessedness his death would bring to you? And has not your heart burned within you, till you could only find relief in praise? If so, and I should fear for the professed Christian who is a stranger to such joys, then you have had a foretaste of what the happiness and employment of heaven may be.