Fanny clung to her brother, who, in a moment of sobriety, might have saved her; but now, stupefied with drink and fear, he was intent only on self-preservation, and though the steamer hovered for a considerable time about the fatal spot, three of the young women were seen no more. The wretched father had returned home after eager inquiries at the river side, whence nothing could be seen of the boat, and was again on his way, in almost frantic despair, when he was met by the bearers of his son, and the news of his daughter's fate. Henry was seized with brain fever, and his struggles to reach his sister, whose cries for help seemed to ring in his ears, were frightful and distressing to his broken-hearted parents, who mourned too late their negligence of parental duty. Ellen's lamentation for Fanny Ashton's unhappy end was mingled with thankfulness for her own escape. "It would have killed me quite," said she shuddering; "for had I been saved from drowning, I must have died from the effects of such fright and cold." "And you feel you would not have been prepared for such a summons to another world, dear Ellen," said Jane, when, after a time, her sister thus recurred to the event. "O, I don't know about that; it did not come you know, so I need not think about it!" "But it must come some day, and by some means. If not by sudden accident, by sickness and—" "Well really, Jane, I wonder how you ever expect me to get well, talking about such things," said Ellen, with irritation; "but I want you to write to uncle, and ask for me to have a change of air directly; I'm tired of being here, and I want some companions with more life and spirit than you have, to rouse me out of melancholy thoughts. Poor Fanny, she always had something pleasant to talk about." And Ellen wept herself to sleep, with her hand upon the last novel that her friend had brought, and which Jane softly drew away, leaving her Bible in its place. When Ellen awoke she discovered the exchange, and felt annoyed; but suddenly her thoughts took a new turn. What if Jane's fears were really excited about her health? What if all this excessive weakness, and distracting cough, meant something more than temporary indisposition? She had observed the looks of tender pity with which all seemed to regard her, and the increased desire to guide her mind to heavenly things. Could it be that her life was really in danger, and they wished to make her aware of it without any sudden shock? Then she burst into passionate weeping, burying her face in the pillow, against which she leaned, until roused by the gentle hand of her kind nurse. "O Mrs. Davis!" she cried with broken voice. "Do tell me, am I—am I dying? Is it possible that I cannot get well?" "Your soul will die, my child, if you do not ask the Lord Jesus Christ to save it. If you had peace in him, you would resign yourself to his will for life or death."