She wasn't never like a child that's to live--there was allers something
deep in her eyes. I've told Missis so, many the time; it's a comin'
true,--we all sees it,--dear, little, blessed lamb!"

Eva came tripping up the verandah steps to her father. It was late in
the afternoon, and the rays of the sun formed a kind of glory behind
her, as she came forward in her white dress, with her golden hair and
glowing cheeks, her eyes unnaturally bright with the slow fever that
burned in her veins.

St. Clare had called her to show a statuette that he had been buying
for her; but her appearance, as she came on, impressed him suddenly and
painfully. There is a kind of beauty so intense, yet so fragile, that we
cannot bear to look at it. Her father folded her suddenly in his arms,
and almost forgot what he was going to tell her.

"Eva, dear, you are better now-a-days,--are you not?"

"Papa," said Eva, with sudden firmness "I've had things I wanted to say
to you, a great while. I want to say them now, before I get weaker."

St. Clare trembled as Eva seated herself in his lap. She laid her head
on his bosom, and said,

"It's all no use, papa, to keep it to myself any longer. The time is
coming that I am going to leave you. I am going, and never to come
back!" and Eva sobbed.

"O, now, my dear little Eva!" said St. Clare, trembling as he spoke, but
speaking cheerfully, "you've got nervous and low-spirited; you mustn't
indulge such gloomy thoughts. See here, I've bought a statuette for
you!"

"No, papa," said Eva, putting it gently away, "don't deceive
yourself!--I am _not_ any better, I know it perfectly well,--and I am
going, before long. I am not nervous,--I am not low-spirited. If it were
not for you, papa, and my friends, I should be perfectly happy. I want
to go,--I long to go!"

"Why, dear child, what has made your poor little heart so sad? You have
had everything, to make you happy, that could be given you."

"I had rather be in heaven; though, only for my friends' sake, I would
be willing to live. There are a great many things here that make me sad,
that seem dreadful to me; I had rather be there; but I don't want to
leave you,--it almost breaks my heart!"

"What makes you sad, and seems dreadful, Eva?"

"O, things that are done, and done all the time. I feel sad for our poor
people; they love me dearly, and they are all good and kind to me. I
wish, papa, they were all _free_."

"Why, Eva, child, don't you th