ast twelve; she had been asleep some little time very
quietly. I was just going to lie down on the sofa, when I thought her
face looked different, and stood watching. She woke, said she felt
oppressed, and asked me to raise her pillows. While she was leaning
against my arm, there was a spasm, a shiver, and she was gone! Yes, we
must only think of her as in perfect peace!"

Henrietta lay motionless for some moments, then at last broke out with a
sort of anger, "O, why did you not call me?"

"There was not one instant, my dear, and I could not ring, for fear of
disturbing Fred. I could not call any one till it was too late."

"O, why was I not there? I would--I would--she must have heard me.
I would not have let her go. O, mamma!" cried Henrietta, almost
unconscious of what she said, and bursting into a transport of
ungovernable grief; sobbing violently and uttering wild incoherent
exclamations. Her aunt tried in vain to soothe her by kind words, but
all she said seemed only to add impulse to the torrent; and at last she
found herself obliged to wait till the violence of the passion had in
some degree exhausted itself; and young, strong, and undisciplined as
poor Henrietta was, this was not quickly. At last, however, the sobs
grew less loud, and the exclamations less vehement. Aunt Geoffrey
thought she could be heard, leant down over her, kissed her, and said,
"Now we must pray that we may fulfil her last desire; bear it patiently,
and try to help your brother."

"Fred, O poor Fred!" and she seemed on the point of another burst of
lamentation, but her aunt went on speaking--"I must go to him; he
has yet to hear it, and you had better come to him as soon as you are
dressed."

"O aunt; I could not bear to see him. It will kill him, I know it will!
O no, no, I cannot, cannot see Fred! O, mamma, mamma!" A fresh fit of
weeping succeeded, and Mrs. Langford herself feeling most deeply, was in
great doubt and perplexity; she did not like to leave Henrietta in this
condition, and yet there was an absolute necessity that she should go
to poor Fred, before any chance accident or mischance should reveal the
truth.

"I must leave you, my dear," said she, at last. "Think how your dear
mother bowed her head to His will. Pray to your Father in Heaven, Who
alone can comfort you. I must go to your brother, and when I return, I
hope you will be more composed."

The pain of witnessing the passionate sorrow of Henrietta was no good
p