"My poor child, come away." "Do you mean that she is dead ?" I asked--"dead ?" "Yes, she is with the angels," he replied.

"Thank Heaven for it! Dear child, she could not have lived and borne this--she would have suffered a torture of anguish.

Now it is all over, and she is at rest.

She must have died even as she fell." Was I dying?
My face fell on hers; an exceeding bitter cry came from my lips.
"Oh, mother--mother!" And then Heaven was merciful to me, too--a dark shadow seemed to fall over me, and I remember no more.
When I awoke I was in my own room and the sun was shining--the birds singing.

Emma sat by me.