Theodore by a strong and sudden exertion assumed a composed and firm countenance, and endeavoured by every gentle argument to soothe and comfort his weeping friends. La Luc at length seemed to conquer his sufferings; drying his eyes, he said, My son, I ought to have set you a better example, and have practised the precepts of fortitude I have so often given you. But it is over; I know and will perform my duty. Adeline breathed a heavy sigh, and continued to weep. Be comforted, my love, we part but for a time, said Theodore as he kissed the tears from her cheek; and uniting her hand with that of his father's, he earnestly recommended her to his protection. Receive her, added he, as the most precious legacy I can bequeath; consider her as your child: she will console you when I am gone, she will more than supply the loss of your son. La Luc assured him that he did now, and should continue to regard Adeline as his daughter. During those afflicting hours he endeavoured to dissipate the terrors of approaching death by inspiring his son with religious confidence. His conversation was pious, rational, and consolatory; he spoke not from the cold dictates of the head, but from the feelings of a heart which had long loved and practised the pure precepts of Christianity, and which now drew from them a comfort such as nothing earthly could bestow. You are young, my son, said he, and are yet innocent of any great crime; you may therefore look on death without terror, for to the guilty only is his approach dreadful. I feel that I shall not long survive you, and I trust in a merciful God that we shall meet in a state where sorrow never comes; where the _Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing on his wings!_ As he spoke he looked up; the tears still trembled in his eyes, which beamed with meek yet fervent devotion, and his countenance glowed with the dignity of a superior being. Let us not neglect the awful moments, said La Luc rising, let our united prayers ascend to Him who alone can comfort and support us! They all knelt down, and he prayed with that simple and sublime eloquence which true piety inspires. When he arose he embraced his children separately, and when he came to Theodore he paused, gazed upon him with an earnest, mournful expression, and was for some time unable to speak. Theodore could not bear this; he drew his hand before his eyes, and vainly endeavoured to stifle the deep sobs which convulsed his frame. At length recovering his voice, he entreated his father would leave him. This misery is too much for us all, said he, let us not prolong it. The time is now drawing on--leave me to compose myself; the sharpness of death consists in parting with those who are dear to us; when that is passed death is disarmed.