A few tears had rolled down her cheek, and (probably unknown to her) dropped upon the pages of her book.
I looked around me for a moment.

The room was outwardly comfortless and uninviting: the walls out of repair; the sloping roof somewhat shattered; the floor broken and uneven; no furniture but two tottering bedsteads, a three-legged stool, and an old oak chest; the window broken in many places, and mended with patches of paper.

A little shelf against the wall, over the bedstead where Jane lay, served for her physic, her food, and her books.
"Yet _here_," I said to myself, "lies an heir of glory, waiting for a happy dismissal.

Her earthly home is poor, indeed; but she has a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.

She has little to attach her to this world; but what a weight of glory in the world to come! This mean, despised chamber is a palace in the eye of faith, for it contains one that is inheritor of a crown." I approached without waking her, and observed that she had been reading the twenty-third chapter of St.Luke.