nt of this colloquy, and glad when
Amabel ended it, and led the way up-stairs. She entered her little room,
then quietly opened another door, and Mrs. Edmonstone found herself
standing by the bed, where that which was mortal lay, with its face
bright with the impress of immortality.

The shock was great, for he was indeed as a son to her; but her fears
for Amabel would not leave room for any other thought.

'Is not he beautiful?' said Amy, with a smile like his own.

'My dear, my dear, you ought not to be here,' said Mrs. Edmonstone,
trying to lead her away.

'If you would let me say my prayers here!' said she, submissively.

'I think not. I don't know how to refuse, if it would be a comfort,'
said Mrs. Edmonstone, much distressed, 'but I can't think it right.
The danger is greater after. And surely, my poor dear child, you have a
reason for not risking yourself!'

'Go, mamma, I ought not to have brought you here; I forgot about
infection,' said Amabel, with the tranquillity which her mother had
hoped to shake by her allusion. 'I am coming.'

She took up Guy's watch and a book from the table by the bed-side, and
came back to her sleeping-room. She wound up the watch, and then allowed
her mother to undress her, answering all her inquiries about her health
in a gentle, indifferent, matter-of-fact way. She said little of Guy,
but that little was without agitation, and in due time she lay down in
bed. Still, whenever Mrs. Edmonstone looked at her, there was no sleep
in her eyes, and at last she persuaded her to leave her, on the plea
that being watched made her more wakeful, as she did not like to see
mamma sitting up.

Almost as soon as it was light, Mrs. Edmonstone returned, and was
positively frightened, for there stood Amabel, dressed in her white
muslin, her white bonnet, and her deep lace wedding-veil. All her glossy
hair was hidden away, and her face was placid as ever, though there was
a red spot on each cheek. She saw her mother's alarm, and reassured her
by speaking calmly.

'You know I have nothing else but colours; I should like to wear this,
if you will let me.'

'But, dearest, you must not--cannot go.'

'It is very near. We often walked there together. I would not if I
thought it would hurt me, but I wish it very much indeed. At home by
Michaelmas!'

Mrs. Edmonstone yielded, though her mind misgave her, comforted by
hoping for the much-desired tears. But Amabel, who used to cry so easily
for a