eved him
guiltless. Oh, who might not envy her this love and faith!

The robin red-breast from his fading bower of hawthorns warbled in the
early dawn of the cold, bright, autumnal day. The first rays of the sun
gilded the gay changing leaves of the vine that clustered about the
windows with hues of the richest dye, and the large bunches of grapes
peeping from among the leaves looked more temptingly ripe, bathed in dew
and brightened in the morning beam. A slight rap at her chamber door
dispelled Juliet's slumbers, and Ruth Candler entered the room.

"Is anything wrong, Ruth?"

"My mistress is awake, and wishes to see you, Miss," said Ruth, bursting
into tears. "It's the last morn. I'm thinking, that she'll ever see on
earth. She's in no pain, she says, but she is so pale, and her eyes do
not look like the eyes of the living. Alas! alas! what shall we do when
she is gone? The dear sweet young creter!"

Ruth wept aloud with her face to the wall while Juliet hurried on her
clothes, and, with a full heart, followed the old woman to the chamber
of the invalid.

She found Clary sitting up in the bed, supported by pillows. Cold as it
was, the casement was open to admit the full beams of the rising sun,
and the arms of the dying girl were extended towards it, and her
countenance lighted up with an expression of angelic beauty and intense
admiration. Her brother was seated upon the bed, his face concealed in
the pillow, while ever and anon a deep sob burst from his full laboring
heart.

He had watched there through the long night--had watched and prayed
while the dear one slept her last sleep on earth; and he knew that the
young spirit had only roused itself to look once more upon the lovely
creation of God before it plumed its bright wing for its final flight.

"Sun, beautiful sun! I shall see thee no more," said the child. "Thou
glorious emblem of the power and love of God. But I go to him who is the
Sun of the spirit-world, the life and light of the soul. There is joy in
my heart--deep joy--joy which no mortal tongue can express, for the
happiness I feel is not of the world. The fresh breezes of morning fan
my brow; to-morrow they will sigh over my grave. The earth returns to
the earth, the spirit to the God who gave it. Weep not for me, dear
brother. For this hour I was born. For this hour I came into the world,
and you should rejoice and be exceedingly glad that I have so soon
obtained my passport to the skies."