a folded her letter hastily, sealed it and directed it, and then,
enfeebled by the exertion, sank down beside her sleeping child, kissed
her softly, and whispered, "for the last time!" Her feet and hands were
like ice; she felt this icy coldness run through all her veins, and
diffuse itself over her whole body; her limbs stiffened; and it seemed
to her as if a cold wind blew into her face.

"It is death!" thought Sara; "my death-bed is lonesome and miserable;
yet--I have deserved no better." Her consciousness became ever darker;
but in the depths of her soul combated still the last, perhaps the
noblest powers of life--suffering and prayer. At length they too also
became benumbed, but not for long, for new impressions waked suddenly
the slumbering life.

It appeared to Sara as if angel voices had spoken and repeated her name,
tender hands had rubbed her stiffened limbs with electrical fire; her
feet were pressed to a bosom that beat strongly; hot drops fell upon
them, and thawed the icy coldness. She felt a heart throbbing against
hers, and the wind of death upon her face vanished before warm summer
breath, kisses, tears. Oh! was it a dream? But the dream became ever
more living and clear. Life, loving, affectionate, warm life, contended
with death, and was the victor! "Sara, Sara!" cried a voice full of love
and anxiety, and Sara opened her eyes, and said, "Oh! Petrea, is it
you?"

Yes, indeed, it was our poor Petrea, whose distress at Sara's condition,
and whose joy over her now returning life, can neither of them be
described. Sara took Petrea's hand, and conveyed it to her lips, and the
humility of this action, so unlike the former Sara, penetrated Petrea's
heart.

"Give me something to drink," prayed Sara, with a feeble voice. Petrea
looked around for some refreshing liquid, but there was nothing to be
found in the cottage excepting a jug containing a little muddy water;
not a drop of milk, and the cow was lost in the wood! Petrea would have
given her heart's blood for a few drops of wine, for she saw that Sara
was ready to die from feebleness. And now, with feelings which are not
to be told, must she give Sara to drink from the muddy water, in which,
however, to make it more refreshing, she bruised some bilberries. Sara
thanked her for it as if it had been nectar.

"Is there anywhere in this neighbourhood a place where one can meet with
people, and obtain the means of life?" asked Petrea from her little
guide