east,

"Read the prayers for dying," he read with a swelling heart
and an unsteady voice, and at the end of each she faintly
said, _Amen_. When he came to the last, no _Amen_ was uttered
on earth; the light was gone; the soul was fled; he was alone;
and if God had _not_ been with him then, he would indeed have
been desolate and utterly forsaken, for he had few
connections, few friends; he never opened his heart to any
one, and in his grief he hid himself from the eyes of men, and
communed with his own soul. God was with him during the first
hours of agonising grief; during long days of gloom and silent
loneliness; during years of calm sorrow, and quiet exertion,
in which he did much good, and learnt that lesson which
affliction teaches, "In all things to be more resigned than
blest;" and when he dies He will be with him still, for He
never forsakes in death those who have served Him in life. He
travelled for a few years, and then returned to Hillscombe,
where he lived much alone. Once, five years after Ellen's
death, while he was calling on Mrs. Moore, at Hampstead, he
accidentally met Mr. Escourt, who slightly bowed to him and
left the room. Edward turned deadly pale; and that night he
had to struggle long and deeply with himself, before he could
utter the most solemn sentence in the Lord's Prayer. With Mr.
Lacy he formed a strict intimacy, which lasted as long as the
life of that venerable man.

Mrs. Middleton never returned to Elmsley; and spent her
remaining days in one of those beautiful and quiet spots on
the coast of Devonshire. The sight and sound of the sea
soothed and quieted the restless nervousness from which she
suffered. She would sit for hours on the shore and watch
attentively the advancing and receding of the tide, or the
fishermen's children playing on the sand at her feet.

"How much that woman must have suffered," was the remark often
made by strangers as they passed by her, and observed the
expression of her face.

Once a little scene occurred which excited some attention in
the by-standers. A pretty little girl, whom Mrs. Middleton had
often noticed and caressed, was playing near her with another
child. They quarrelled, and in her anger the little girl
struck her playmate, who fell on the ground.

A loud and wild cry burst from Mrs. Middleton's lips; she laid
hold of the child, and in a hoarse and trembling voice
exclaimed, "You know not what you do! you know not what you
do!"

Abashed