Her head sank lower, lower; she had fainted--Malcolm laid her down tenderly as a woman, and knelt by her side, administering restoratives, chafing the cold hands, and lifting up his heart in prayer. She opened her eyes--a sweet, sorrowful smile passed over her face, as she whispered, "It is a hard trial, but the Lord's will be done; my father is a Christian, and I can say now, he is thine; take him, dear Lord, to thyself; but O, Mr. Graham! this human heart! How lonely will it be! My father was parent, mother, brother, friend!" "Comfort will come, my dear child, if ye are ane o' the Saviour's fold; he is afflicted when ye are sad, has borne all yer sorrows, carried all yer griefs." "Now, let us return, Mr. Graham," and Madeline took her place again by her father's side. A few more silent hours passed--about midnight, there was some motion visible in the form that lay there so deathly still. Slowly he unclosed his eyes, and raising his hand, said, "Where is my daughter, my Madeline?" "She is here, dear papa," was the quick response. "Kiss me, darling; I am in the midst of the dark valley, just passing over, Madeline; but 'his rod and his staff, they comfort me.'" She stooped over the dear parent; he folded her fondly to his heart; then held her off; looked at her one minute with unutterable love; then pressed upon her cheek the cold kisses of lips that were chilled in death. "You have been a comfort to me always, Maddy; you will meet me, darling, in the better world; be true to your dear Saviour, Madeline." "Do you suffer, dear papa?" was the affectionate, anxious question. "Not at all; perfect peace! perfect peace! God be praised!" and in another minute, the spirit of Lewis Hamilton had departed to its rest. "Tak' her, Roland," said Mr. Graham, as he saw the drooping form of the afflicted daughter. Tenderly he led her to the adjoining room, and whispered words of Christian sympathy and love, in her hour of sore trial. Aunt Matilda had remained in the room with her brother, until the last moment, and had then sought her own room. "O, Roland! you know what I have lost," said the poor girl. "Yes, Madeline, but think of his everlasting gain;" and Roland sat with Madeline's dear hand clasped in his, as in the days of yore. * * * * * * * Lady Alice had heard of the bereavement, and accompanied by her brother, she sought the house of the mourner, at the earliest period after the funeral was over. Roland was there, and Lord N---- needed none to tell him of the deep love that dwelt in the heart of Roland Bruce for the orphan girl. But there was something in the humble, deferential manner of the young man, which led Lord N---- to wonder if he were really an accepted suitor.