“Think not of me now;—I would tell you—if God grant me strength—I would tell you of One who has died indeed for sinners—for you—for me. For those who have insulted Him, and despised His warnings—for those who have hardened their hearts against His mercy; even for such the Son of God stooped to die. Oh, can you resist a love such as this?” The once proud, insolent boy was sobbing aloud. “See, here is my Bible, my precious Bible; I am going where even that will be needed no more. I give it to you—keep it as a remembrance of me. Will you promise me to read it, for my sake?” “For your sake,” groaned Lawless, “I would do anything! I can never, never forget what you have done and suffered for me.” [Illustration: JACK RECEIVING THE BIBLE.] “Oh, rather remember what the High and Holy One has done and suffered for us both. Your heart is touched with feeling for me; you are grateful towards a poor worm of earth, and can you remain hardened and rebellious towards the merciful Saviour, who is now stretching out His arms to call you to Himself. Who is so ready to receive you, so ready to forgive, as He who has sacrificed His life, that you may live!” The boy could make no reply; but the dying words then heard were branded on his soul, never to be forgotten while memory should endure. * * * * * “Come in, dear Clemmy; it is very kind in you to visit the sick-room,” murmured Ernest. Followed by Charles and Mr. Ewart, Clementina entered, mingled pity, fear, and awe on her face. Fontonore held out to his cousin his white, emaciated hand. “You will be better soon, I trust,” faltered the young lady. “Yes; I shall _be with Christ, which is far better_.” “But it is terrible to leave all—so early—it seems so cruel! Ernest, you are too young for—for death!” “Too young for happiness, my cousin? Do you remember our conversation in London; how I told you that none could be happy as the Christian, that there is no pleasure equal to what religion can give? I thought it then,” he cried, his voice strengthening, his eye kindling as he spoke; “I thought it then, Clementina, but I _know_ it now! What is it to me that I bear the title of a peer, that this castle is mine, that men call me great—I must leave all, perhaps before the sun sets; I must leave all, and yet my whole soul is full of joy—joy beyond all that earth can ever bestow. I am passing through the river, but it does not overflow me; beneath are the everlasting arms—before me are the glories of the eternal city, where I shall see Him whom not seeing I have loved!” There was a radiance upon the dying countenance that seemed not of earth but heaven. Clementina looked upon Ernest, wondering; and for the first time felt the littleness of the world, and the vanity of all that it can give.