r looks belied her voice, for she was far from
feeling the confidence which she tried to give.

"The doctor is coming to-day, and we will ask him what we can do this
summer to make you stronger. Now we must go back to the house, Nora; you
look pale and ill, my child. Is anything more than usual the matter with
you?"

Nora assured her mother that she was only tired. After any unusual
exertion, her face always grew paler and her expression more suffering.
She reached the house with difficulty, and, when Frederic had carried
her up to her bed-room, she lay on the sofa a long time without moving,
thoroughly exhausted.

The doctor came towards noon, and declared that a complete change of air
would be the best thing for the little Nora, who certainly seemed to be
losing strength daily. He would write to a physician, a friend of his in
Switzerland, to find a suitable place for her, and would come again as
soon as he received an answer.

Towards evening, Nora sat once more in the window, gazing wearily at the
long slanting rays of the setting sun that fell across the greensward in
golden radiance, and lighted up the rose-leaves till they shone like
lamps among the flowers. Clarissa sat at her work-table by Nora's side
and from time to time, she raised her head and looked sadly at the frail
form that lay so motionless in the window-seat.

"Clarissa," said the child, presently, "will you repeat the old song of
Paradise to me?"

Clarissa laid aside her work.

"We will sing it together again some day, dear child, when you are
strong enough; now I will say it to you if you wish" and she folded her
hands and began:--

"A stream of water, crystal bright,
Flows down through meadows green,
Where lilies, shining in the light,
Like twinkling starlets gleam.

"And roses blow, and roses glow,
While birds in every tree
Are singing loud, are singing low,
'In Paradise are we.'

"Here, gently blows the soft, sweet wind;
Bright flowers grow all around;
Men wake, as from a dream, to find
They tread on holy ground.

"In blissful happiness they rove,
At peace with each and all;
United now in bonds of love,
Freed from the grave's dark pall.

"All want and weariness are o'er,
All sorrow and all pain;
Their rapture gathers more and more;
The sick are well again."

After Clarissa had finished her recitation, no sound broke the sti