rs, were ever before me;
the repeated strokes of the hard ferule kept sounding in my ears. At
length, unable to endure it longer I left my bed, and sat down by the
window. The noble elms stood peacefully in the moonlight, the penciled
shadow of their spreading branches lying tremulously on the ground.

"The white fence, the graveled walks, the perfect quietness in which
everything was wrapped, seemed to mock my restlessness, while the solemn
midnight sky filled me with a sense of awe which I never felt before.
Ah! Bessie, God was displeased with me, my conscience was burdened and
uneasy, and I was wretched.

"As I turned from the window, my eyes rested on the snow-white coverlet
of my little bed, a birthday gift from my mother. All her patient
kindness, rushed upon my mind. I felt her dying hand upon my head. I
listened once more to her trembling voice, as she fervently besought the
blessing of heaven upon me:--

"'Oh, make her a truthful, holy child!'

"I tried to banish from my thoughts this last petition of my dying
mother; but the more resolute was my purpose, the more distinctly did
those pleading tones fall upon my heart, till, bowing upon the window, I
wept convulsively. But tears, Bessie, could give me no relief.

"My agony became every moment more intense, till at length, I rushed,
almost in terror, to my father's bedside.

"'Father! father!' but I could say no more. Tenderly putting his arm
around me, he laid my throbbing head upon his bosom; and there he
gently soothed me, till I could so far control my sobbing, as to explain
its cause. Then how fervently did he plead with, heaven, that his
sinning child might be forgiven!

"'Dear father,' said I, 'will you go with me to-night to see poor Amy?'

"He answered, 'To-morrow morning, my child.'

[Illustration: "Dear Father, will you go with me to-night to see poor
Amy?"]

"Delay was torture; but striving to suppress my disappointment, I
received my father's kiss and went back to my room. But slumber still
fled from my weary eyelids.

"My longing to beg Amy's forgiveness amounted to frenzy; and after
watching for the morning, for what seemed to me hours, my anguish became
so intolerable that I fled once more to my father, and with tears
streaming down my cheeks, I knelt by his side, beseeching him to go with
me to Amy that moment; adding, in a whisper, 'She may die before she
has forgiven me.' He laid his hand upon my burning cheek, and after a
moment