g home fast."

One startled, non-comprehending look, and then the truth rushed on
Bessie, and she threw on her dressing-gown and hurried to the sick-room.

"Going home fast!" nay, she had gone; the last sigh was breathed as
Bessie crossed the threshold "Thank God, she has not suffered!"
murmured her father. Bessie heard him as she flung herself down beside
Hatty.

There had been no pain, no struggle; a sudden change, a few short sighs,
and Hatty had crossed the river. How peaceful and happy she looked in
her last sleep--the sweet, deep sleep that knows no awaking! An innocent
smile seemed to linger on her face. Never more would Hatty mourn over
her faults and shortcomings; never more would morbid fears torment and
harass her weary mind; never more would she plead for forgiveness, nor
falter underneath her life's burden, for, as Maguire says, "To those
doubting ones earth was a night season of gloom and darkness, and in the
borderland they saw the dawn of day; and when the summons comes they are
glad to bid farewell to the night that is past, and to welcome with joy
and singing the eternal day, whose rising shall know no sunset."

Many and many a time during that mourning week did Bessie, spent and
weary with weeping, recall those words that her darling had uttered, "I
don't want to get well, Bessie; I should have all the old miserable
feelings over again." And even in her desolation Bessie would not have
called her back.

"My Hatty has gone," she wrote to Edna, in those first days of
her loss. "I shall never see her sweet face again until we meet
in Paradise. I shall never hear her loving voice; but for her
own sake I cannot wish her back. Her life was not a happy one;
no one could make it happy, it was shadowed by physical
depression. She had much to bear, and it was not always easy to
understand her; it was difficult for her to give expression to
the nameless fears, and the strange, morbid feelings that made
life so difficult. She loved us all so much, but even her love
made her wretched, for a careless word or a thoughtless speech
rankled in her mind for days, and it was not easy to extract the
sting; she was too sensitive, too highly organized for daily
life; she made herself miserable about trifles. I know she could
not help it, poor darling, and father says so too. Oh, how I
miss her. But God only knows that, and I dare say He will
comfort me in