r Arthur would let Fairoaks
or live in it, and expected that he would not be long getting through
his property,--this was all, and except with one or two who cherished
her, the kind soul was forgotten by the next market-day. Would you
desire that grief for you should last for a few more weeks? and does
after-life seem less solitary, provided that our names, when we "go down
into silence," are echoing on this side of the grave yet for a little
while, and human voices are still talking about us? She was gone, the
pure soul, whom only two or three loved and knew. The great blank she
left was in Laura's heart, to whom her love had been everything, and
who had now but to worship her memory. "I am glad that she gave me
her blessing before she went away," Warrington said to Pen; and as for
Arthur, with a humble acknowledgment and wonder at so much affection, he
hardly dared to ask of Heaven to make him worthy of it, though he felt
that a saint there was interceding for him.

All the lady's affairs were found in perfect order, and her little
property ready for transmission to her son, in trust for whom she
held it. Papers in her desk showed that she had long been aware of the
complaint, one of the heart, under which she laboured, and knew that it
would suddenly remove her: and a prayer was found in her handwriting,
asking that her end might be, as it was, in the arms of her son.

Laura and Arthur talked over her sayings, all of which the former most
fondly remembered, to the young man's shame somewhat, who thought how
much greater her love had been for Helen than his own. He referred
himself entirely to Laura to know what Helen would have wished should be
done; what poor persons she would have liked to relieve; what legacies
or remembrances she would have wished to transmit. They packed up the
vase which Helen in her gratitude had destined to Dr. Goodenough, and
duly sent it to the kind Doctor; a silver coffee-pot, which she used,
was sent off to Portman: a diamond ring, with her hair, was given with
affectionate greeting to Warrington.

It must have been a hard day for poor Laura when she went over to
Fairoaks first and to the little room which she had occupied, and which
was hers no more, and to the widow's own blank chamber in which those
two had passed so many beloved hours. There, of course, were the clothes
in the wardrobe, the cushion on which she prayed, the chair at the
toilette: the glass that was no more to reflect