And so she nerved her woman's heart, almost breaking as it was, to bear and hide her own sorrows, while she strove to comfort and strengthen the failing spirit of her husband.
"God is good," said she, after a brief silence, during which she was striving for the mastery over her weakness.

As she spoke, she leaned over the sick man, and looked at him lovingly, and with the smile of an angel on her countenance.
"Yes, God is good, Fanny.

Have we not proved this, again and again ?" was returned, a feeble light coming into the speaker's pale face.
"A thousand times, dear! a thousand times!" said the wife, earnestly.
"He is infinite in his goodness, and we are his children." "Yes, his children," was the whispered response.

And over and over again he repeated the words, "His children;" his voice falling lower and lower each time, until at length his eyes closed, and his in-going thought found no longer an utterance.
Twilight had come.

The deepening shadows were fast obscuring all objects in the sick-chamber, where silence reigned, profound almost as death.
"He sleeps," whispered the wife, as she softly raised herself from her reclining position on the bed.