Far be it from me to laugh at beliefs which have so deep a root in Englishwomen's hearts: nor is it incredible to those who believe in the divine interference, that signs and warnings of death should be sent beforehand, if only to turn the thoughts heavenward and lead sinners to repent. But this I think, that if poor Mrs. Deborah had not accepted these warnings for herself, she might have lived on to a green old age, as did her sister. Being, therefore, convinced in her mind that her time was come, she was only anxious to make due preparation. She would have been disappointed at getting well, as one who has packed her boxes for a long journey, but is told at the last moment that she must wait. As she grew weaker, her brain began to wander. She talked of Bagnigge Wells, of Cupid's Garden, the entertainments of her father's company, and the childish days when everything was hopeful. While she talked, Mrs. Esther wept and whispered to me-- "She was so pretty and merry! Oh! child, if you could have seen us both in our young days--if you could have seen my Deborah with her pretty saucy ways; her roguish smile, her ready wit made all to love her! Ah! me--me--those happy days! and now! My dear Deborah, it is well that thou shouldst go." This was on the morning of Mrs. Deborah's last day in life. In the afternoon her senses returned to her, and we propped her up, pale and weak, and listened while she spoke words of love and farewell to be kept sacred in the memory of those who had to go on living. "For thirty years, dear sister," she murmured, while their two thin hands were held in each other's clasp--"for thirty years we have prayed daily unto the Lord to have pity upon all prisoners and captives, meaning more especially, ourselves. Now, unto me hath He shown this most excellent mercy, and calleth me away to a much better place than we can imagine or deserve. I had thought it would be well if He would lead us out of this ward to some place where, in green lanes and fields, we might meditate for a space in quiet before we died. I should like to have heard the song of the lark and seen the daisies. But God thinks otherwise." "Oh, sister--sister!" cried Mrs. Esther. "'There shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain,'" said Mrs. Deborah. "Kitty, child," she turned her pale face to me, "be kind to my sister." We wept together. Outside there was the usual tumult of the market--men buying and selling, with shouts and cries; within, three women weeping, and one dying. "Go, dear," said she who was dying; "call the Doctor. He hath been very generous to us. Tell him I would receive the last offices from his hands."