e presence was the joy and the sunlight of his life.

He reached his home, and silently entered his blooming garden; and,
with Squanto's assistance, laid the body of Fingal, now cold and stiff,
beneath the venerable tree that shaded Edith's bower. Then he entered
his dwelling, and found its inmates busily employed at their usual
domestic occupations, and overjoyed at his sudden and unexpected
arrival. But, in spite of his own pleasure, a shade of sadness and
anxiety was on his brow, which he could not hide from the quick eye of
Helen; and she eagerly inquired the cause.

Sadly Rodolph told his story; and joy and deep gratitude for the
preservation of her beloved husband so filled and engrossed the heart
of Helen, as, for a time, to overpower every feeling of regret for the
loss of the faithful animal, who seemed to have been providentially
directed to accompany his master, and save his life at the sacrifice of
his own.

But Edith keenly felt the loss she had sustained. She was thankful--
very thankful--that her father had been restored to their home in
safety; but she did not the less deplore the death of her dear
companion: and, unable to restrain her tears, she hurried from the
house, and ran to hide her grief in her lonely bower. For some time her
parents did not perceive her absence, for they were occupied with their
own feelings of pious gratitude; but presently Rodolph remarked that
she had left the room, and remembered where he had deposited the body
of her favorite. He rose, and went towards the spot, accompanied by
Helen; and tears of sorrowful sympathy arose in the eyes of both, as
they beheld the desolate child lying on the ground by Fingal's side,
with her arms around his neck, and her long waving hair hanging over
his inanimate face, that had never before met her gaze without an
answering look of intelligence and affection.

Gently they raised her, and spoke to her words of love and comfort; but
she long refused to be comforted. And though, at length, she became
calm and resigned, and never was heard to utter one murmur at this
fresh stroke of sorrow, yet her pensive sadness became more confirmed,
and plainly showed that she mourned for Fingal, not only as her lost
companion, but also as a connecting link between her own heart and the
memory of her lamented brother. Poor Edith! her early life was one of
trial and disappointment; but 'it was good for her to be afflicted.'

CHAPTER XIV.

'O Chris