The snowy folds of the dress were looped up with the orange blossoms which Mrs.Wentworth had restored to their natural beauty.

On her cold, yet lovely brow, a wreath of the same flowers was placed, while in her hand was placed a tiny ivory cross, that Ella had worn around her neck while living.

The transformation was complete.

The dress of the young and blooming bride had become the habiliments of the dead child, and the orange blossoms that rested on its folds and on the brow of Ella, were not more emblematical for the dead than they had been for the living.
"Oh! how pretty sister looks," exclaimed the little boy, who could not comprehend why the dead body lie so motionless and stiff.

"Wake her up, mother," he continued, "she looks so pretty that I want her to stand up and see herself." Mrs.Wentworth smiled sorrowfully at her son's remarks, but she did not remove her features from the dead.