ding hope,
she realized her own wickedness. The burden of her sins seemed to be
settling down upon her with a weight that would crush her.

"I love you, Fanny," continued the invalid, "and I will pray for you to
the last moment of my life. Won't you speak to me?"

"I was very glad to do what I did," stammered Fanny, almost suffocated
by the weight which pressed down upon her.

"I know you are; for it is more blessed to give than to receive."

"I am very sorry you are so sick. Can I do anything to help you?"

"You have done all that could be done, Fanny. I like to speak your
name. It sounds like music to me. After what you have done, _Fanny_
will always mean _goodness_ to me. You cannot do anything more; you
have already done enough."

"Don't you want anything?"

"No; I am happy now. I shall soon pass away, and go to my Saviour."

Mrs. Kent sobbed.

"Don't cry, mother," continued Jenny. "God will take care of you, and
we shall meet again."

"Can't I get anything for you, Jenny? Isn't there anything you want?"
asked Fanny, who felt that she must do something, or she would soon be
overwhelmed by the emotions which agitated her soul.

"Nothing, Fanny. I don't think much of the things around me now. I feel
just as though I didn't belong here. This is not my home. Can you sing,
Fanny?"

"I do sing, sometimes," replied she.

"Will you sing to me?"

"I will; what shall I sing?"

"Something about heaven?" answered Jenny, as she sank back upon the
pillow, and fixed her gaze upon the ceiling, as though beyond it she
could see the happy home which, was ever in her thoughts.

Fanny, as we have said before, was a remarkable singer, not in the
artistic sense, though, with proper cultivation of her talent, she
might have been all this also. She had a fine voice, and sang as
naturally as the birds sing. But this was not an occasion for artistic
effects. Never before had the soul of the wayward girl been so stirred.
She was a Sunday-school scholar, and familiar with most of the
beautiful and touching melodies contained in children's song-books.

She was asked to sing "something about heaven;" and she began at once,
as though it had been selected by some invisible agency and impressed
upon her mind, with the beautiful hymn:--

"There's a home for the poor on that beautiful shore
When life and its sorrows are ended;
And sweetly they'll rest in that home of the blest,
By the presence of angels att