fraid to die? Would _you_ like to have to give
your account all in a moment, without any time to prepare?"

"But you have had time to prepare," said the Pilgrim.

"Oh, only a very very little time; and I never thought it was true. I am
not an old woman, and I am not fit to die; and I'm poor. Oh, if I were
rich, I would bribe you to give me something to keep me alive. Won't you
do it for pity?--won't you do it for pity? When you are as bad as I am,
oh, you will perhaps call for some one to help you, and find nobody,
like me."

"I will help you for love," said the little Pilgrim. "Some one who loves
you has sent me."

The woman lifted herself up a little and shook her head. "There is
nobody that loves me." Then she cast her eyes round her and began to
tremble again (for the touch of the little Pilgrim had stilled her).
"Oh, where am I?" she said. "They have taken me away; they have brought
me to a strange place; and you are new. Oh, where have they taken
me?--where am I?--where am I?" she cried. "Have they brought me here to
die?"

Then the little Pilgrim bent over her and soothed her. "You must not be
so much afraid of dying; that is all over. You need not fear that any
more," she said, softly; "for here where you now are we have all died."

The woman started up out of her arms, and then she gave a great shriek
that made the air ring, and cried out, "Dead! am I dead?" with a shudder
and convulsion, throwing herself again wildly with outstretched hands
upon the ground.

This was a great and terrible work for the little Pilgrim--the first she
had ever had to do--and her heart failed her for a moment; but
afterwards she remembered our Brother who sent her, and knew what was
best. She drew closer to the new-comer and took her hand again.

"Try," she said, in a soft voice, "and think a little. Do you feel now
so ill as you were? Do not be frightened, but think a little. I will
hold your hand; and look at me; you are not afraid of me."

The poor creature shuddered again, and then she turned her face and
looked doubtfully with great dark eyes dilated, and the brow and cheek
so curved and puckered round them that they seemed to glow out of deep
caverns. Her face was full of anguish and fear. But as she looked at
the little Pilgrim her troubled gaze softened. Of her own accord she
clasped her other hand upon the one that held hers, and then she said
with a gasp--

"I am not afraid of you; that was not true that you sa