hen no earthly care should have power to vex him. Even
Effie, more thoughtful and anxious than the rest, cheated herself with
the hope that time alone was needed to restore him. Whatever Aunt Elsie
saw in her brother's changing face, she said nothing of her fears till
the time for self-deception was past with them all.

When the time of his departure drew very near, they even thought him
better, because he suffered less, and because a far greater part of his
time was spent in his arm-chair, or in moving about the room. More than
once, too, he was able, by the help of his staff and of a daughter's
willing arm, to go into the garden, or to the turf seat at the end of
the house; and his enjoyment of the pleasant spring air and the pleasant
spring sights and sounds beguiled them into the belief that he was
becoming himself again. But, alas! it was not so. When the suffering
passed away, there came in its place a feeling of restlessness that
could not be controlled. There was rest for him nowhere. He grew weary
of the bed, weary of the arm-chair, weary of his aimless wanderings up
and down. At such times, Christie's voice, singing or reading, had, now
and then, a power to soothe, sometimes to quiet, sometimes even to put
him to sleep. And, indeed, she grew very skilful in her efforts to
soothe and amuse him; and at any hour of the night or day a movement of
his would bring her to his side. A softly-spoken word, or the loving
touch of his hand upon her head, was enough to make her forget all her
weakness and weariness; and during her whole life, or, at least, since
her mother's death, Christie had passed no happier days than in that
last month of her father's life.

"Your voice is like your mother's, Christie, my lassie," he said one
night, when all but themselves were sleeping.

Christie gave a quick look into his face. He smiled.

"Yes, and you have reminded me of her in various ways during the last
few weeks. I hope you will be as good a woman as your mother was,
Christie."

She was not a demonstrative child, usually; but now she dropped her face
upon her fathers hand, and he felt the fall of her warm tears. It was
gently withdrawn, and laid upon her head, and in words that Christie
never forgot, he prayed God to bless her. But even with the joy that
thrilled her there came upon her a shudder of awe--a fearful certainty
that she was listening to the words of a dying man. For a time she lay
quite motionl