“No, no! _not_ dying, but _ill_—very ill. Oh, _what_ is the matter with you?” Now her tears gushed forth. “Control yourself, Emily—you can do it. _This_ is my disease, _angina pectoris_. I have been threatened with it long—it will do its office to-night. One or two more such convulsions as that and my soul will be released—released! Only think of that! Free to traverse the boundless realms of air! Stupendous it seems to me—I cannot fully realize it. One hour convulsed and agonizing here, the next beyond the most distant star we see. One moment your pale face fades from my eyes, the next the divine glory of the Saviour’s countenance bursts upon my vision!” A terrible convulsion now seized and shook his frame; he held Emily’s hand as before—the fit passed. “You will weep for the old man a few days, Emily, and only a few days. At first you will feel very desolate and helpless, but you will soon recover from that, and find an absorbing object in your son for a time—_that_ may also pass, for you are young.” “Shall I not awake Augustus?” asked Emily, through her streaming tears. “No, child. Do not let him look, young as he is, upon the terrors of a death like this—a death of physical anguish. I looked over him as he lay in his cot to-night and blessed him in his sleep. That is sufficient.” The muscles of his face and hands began to twitch—he struggled and writhed in another strong spasm. When that was over, and he had grown quite calm, he raised his feeble hands, and parting the soft dark hair from her white forehead, he said,— “I bless you, Emily—I bless you and you shall be blessed—blessed in your son, blessed in your friends, blessed in yourself, and blessed in your God.” A convulsion stronger and longer in continuance than any that had preceded it threatened his immediate dissolution. When, at last, it slowly and interruptedly subsided, his features settled into the fixity of death. He did not speak again, his respiration was labored and painful, and only when Emily attempted to move would he give any sign of consciousness by feebly trying to tighten his hold upon her hand; at last that hold relaxed, the respiration ceased, and the freed soul “migrated to the Great Secret.” Emily was calm and quiet now. She laid the venerable hands together over his bosom, composed the limbs, closed the eyes, and straightened the white coverlet of the bed. Then she resumed her seat and her watch until the morning dawned, then dressing herself, she went into the sleeping closet of Kitty, aroused her, told her what had happened, and sent her to the village to procure assistance. By sunrise the cottage was half-full of sympathizing neighbors. The pastor’s funeral took place on the fourth day after his death. The successor of the pastor had arrived in time to perform the funeral ceremonies, and after that was over remained as a temporary guest at the Grove. All plans of removing thither were for the present abandoned by Sophie Churchill.