ling in hell-fire,
catch you lifting a finger to serve me then! No, you'll look
complacently on, and not so much as dip the tip of your finger in water
to cool my tongue!'

'If so, it will be because of the great gulf over which I cannot pass;
and if I could look complacently on in such a case, it would be only from
the assurance that you were being purified from your sins, and fitted to
enjoy the happiness I felt.--But are you determined, Arthur, that I shall
not meet you in heaven?'

'Humph! What should I do there, I should like to know?'

'Indeed, I cannot tell; and I fear it is too certain that your tastes and
feelings must be widely altered before you can have any enjoyment there.
But do you prefer sinking, without an effort, into the state of torment
you picture to yourself?'

'Oh, it's all a fable,' said he, contemptuously.

'Are you sure, Arthur? are you quite sure? Because, if there is any
doubt, and if you should find yourself mistaken after all, when it is too
late to turn--'

'It would be rather awkward, to be sure,' said he; 'but don't bother me
now--I'm not going to die yet. I can't and won't,' he added vehemently,
as if suddenly struck with the appalling aspect of that terrible event.
'Helen, you must save me!' And he earnestly seized my hand, and looked
into my face with such imploring eagerness that my heart bled for him,
and I could not speak for tears.

* * * * *

The next letter brought intelligence that the malady was fast increasing;
and the poor sufferer's horror of death was still more distressing than
his impatience of bodily pain. All his friends had not forsaken him; for
Mr. Hattersley, hearing of his danger, had come to see him from his
distant home in the north. His wife had accompanied him, as much for the
pleasure of seeing her dear friend, from whom she had been parted so
long, as to visit her mother and sister.

Mrs. Huntingdon expressed herself glad to see Milicent once more, and
pleased to behold her so happy and well. She is now at the Grove,
continued the letter, but she often calls to see me. Mr. Hattersley
spends much of his time at Arthur's bed-side. With more good feeling
than I gave him credit for, he evinces considerable sympathy for his
unhappy friend, and is far more willing than able to comfort him.
Sometimes he tries to joke and laugh with him, but that will not do;
sometimes he endeavours to cheer him with talk about old