down to catch the broken words that came
from her parched lips, she distinctly heard:

"I was sure always--from the very first--that God would bless you. And
now--though I am going to die--you will do all for Christ--that I would
like to have done."

Effie was refreshed and strengthened by two or three hours of quiet
sleep. The day passed, the evening came and went, and Christie gave no
sign of pain or restlessness.

"It will be about the turn of the night," said the nurse, raising the
night-lamp to look on her face. But it was not. At the turn of the
night she awoke, and called her sister by name. Effie's face was on the
pillow beside her, and she kissed her softly, without speaking.
Christie fondly returned her caress. She seemed strangely revived.

"Effie," she said, "do you remember something that our mother used to
sing to us--?

"`No dimming clouds o'ershadow thee,
No dull and darksome night,
But every soul shines as the sun,
And God Himself is light.'"

Yes, Effie remembered it well, and she went on, with no break in her
voice, as Christie ceased:

"`No pain, no pang, no bitter grief,
No woeful night is there;
No sob, no sigh, no cry is heard;
No will-awa', no care!'"

And many a verse more of that quaint, touching old canticle did she
sing, all the time watching the smile of wonderful content that was
beautifying the dying face.

"You are quite willing now, Effie?" she said, softly.

"Quite willing," said Effie, softly.

"And it is coming very near now!"

"Very near, love. Very near now!"

"Very near!" She never spoke again. She lingered till the dawn of the
new year's morning, all the time lying like a child slumbering in the
nurse's arms, and then she died.

They did not lay her to rest among the many nameless graves which had
seemed so sad and dreary to her in the beautiful burial-place one summer
day. The spotless snow near her father's grave was disturbed on a
winter's morning, and Christie was laid to rest beside him.

There she has lain through many a summer and winter, but her remembrance
has not perished from the earth. There are loving hearts on both sides
of the sea who still cherish her memory. Gertrude--no longer Miss
Gertrude, however--in the new home she has found, tells the little
children at her knee of her little brother Claude and his nurse, who
loved each other so dearly on earth, and who now are doubtless loving
each other in heaven; and in