reast again, murmuring that it was warmer now, and, as he said it, he
looked in agony to those who stood around, as if imploring them to help
her.

She was dead, and past all help, or need of help. The ancient rooms she
had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast, the
garden she had tended, the eyes she had gladdened, the noiseless haunts of
many a thoughtful hour, the paths she had trodden, as it were, but
yesterday, could know her no more.

"It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on the
cheek, and gave his tears free vent, "it is not in this world that
heaven's justice ends. Think what earth is, compared with the world to
which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one
deliberate wish, expressed in solemn tones above this bed, could call her
back to life, which of us would utter it?"

She had been dead two days. They were all about her at the time, knowing
that the end was drawing on. She died soon after daybreak. They had read
and talked to her in the earlier portion of the night; but, as the hours
crept on, she sank to sleep. They could tell by what she faintly uttered
in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings with the old man; they
were of no painful scenes, but of people who had helped them, and used
them kindly; for she often said "God bless you!" with great fervor.

Waking, she never wandered in her mind but once, and that was at beautiful
music, which, she said, was in the air. God knows. It may have been.
Opening her eyes, at last, from a very quiet sleep, she begged that they
would kiss her once again. That done, she turned to the old man, with a
lovely smile upon her face, such, they said, as they had never seen, and
could never forget, and clung, with both her arms, about his neck. She had
never murmured or complained; but, with a quiet mind, and manner quite
unaltered, save that she every day became more earnest and more grateful
to them, faded like the light upon the summer's evening.

The child who had been her little friend, came there, almost as soon as it
was day, with an offering of dried flowers, which he begged them to lay
upon her breast. He told them of his dream again, and that it was of her
being restored to them, just as she used to be. He begged hard to see her:
saying, that he would be very quiet, and that they need not fear his being
alarmed, for he had sat alone by his young brother all day long, when he
was dead,