For a time Rose lay perfectly still, and Jenny, thinking she was asleep, was about to leave the room, when her sister called her back, and bidding her sit down by her side, said, "Tell me, Jenny, do you think Henry has any love for me ?" "He would be an unnatural brother if he had not," answered Jenny, her own heart yearning more tenderly towards her sister, whose gentle manner she could not understand.
"Then," resumed Rose, "if he loves me, he will be sorry when I am dead, and perhaps it may save him from ruin." The tears dropped slowly from her long eyelashes, while Jenny, laying her round rosy cheek against the thin pale face near her, sobbed out, "You must not die,--dear Rose.

You must not die, and leave us." From that time the failure was visible and rapid, and though letters went frequently to Henry, telling him of his sister's danger, he still lingered by the side of the brilliant beauty, while each morning Rose asked, "Will he come to-day ?" and each night she wept that he was not there.
Calmly and without a murmur she had heard the story of their ruin from her father, who could not let her die without undeceiving her.

Before that time she had asked to be taken back to Mount Auburn, designating the spot where she would be buried, but now she insisted upon being laid by the running brook at the foot of her grandmother's garden, and near a green mossy bank where the spring blossoms were earliest found, and where the flowers of autumn lingered longest.

The music of the falling water, she said would soothe her as she slept, and its cool moisture keep the grass green and fresh upon her early grave.
One day, when Mrs.Lincoln was sitting by her daughter and, as she frequently did, uttering invectives against Mount Holyoke, &c., Rose said, "Don't talk so, mother.

Mount Holyoke Seminary had nothing to do with hastening my death.