that I did well to
go to him.'

* * * * *

Poor, poor Helen! dreadful indeed her trials must have been! And I could
do nothing to lessen them--nay, it almost seemed as if I had brought them
upon her myself by my own secret desires; and whether I looked at her
husband's sufferings or her own, it seemed almost like a judgment upon
myself for having cherished such a wish.

The next day but one there came another letter. That too was put into my
hands without a remark, and these are its contents:--

Dec. 5th.

He is gone at last. I sat beside him all night, with my hand fast looked
in his, watching the changes of his features and listening to his failing
breath. He had been silent a long time, and I thought he would never
speak again, when he murmured, faintly but distinctly,--'Pray for me,
Helen!'

'I do pray for you, every hour and every minute, Arthur; but you must
pray for yourself.'

His lips moved, but emitted no sound;--then his looks became unsettled;
and, from the incoherent, half-uttered words that escaped him from time
to time, supposing him to be now unconscious, I gently disengaged my hand
from his, intending to steal away for a breath of air, for I was almost
ready to faint; but a convulsive movement of the fingers, and a faintly
whispered 'Don't leave me!' immediately recalled me: I took his hand
again, and held it till he was no more--and then I fainted. It was not
grief; it was exhaustion, that, till then, I had been enabled
successfully to combat. Oh, Frederick! none can imagine the miseries,
bodily and mental, of that death-bed! How could I endure to think that
that poor trembling soul was hurried away to everlasting torment? it
would drive me mad. But, thank God, I have hope--not only from a vague
dependence on the possibility that penitence and pardon might have
reached him at the last, but from the blessed confidence that, through
whatever purging fires the erring spirit may be doomed to pass--whatever
fate awaits it--still it is not lost, and God, who hateth nothing that He
hath made, will bless it in the end!

His body will be consigned on Thursday to that dark grave he so much
dreaded; but the coffin must be closed as soon as possible. If you will
attend the funeral, come quickly, for I need help.

HELEN HUNTINGDON.

CHAP