w. I was taken
sick so sudden, I forgot it. It's my stay-by and stand-by--you know."

Helen looked so startled and wild, that Miss Thusa imagined her struck
with superstitious terror at the thought of going alone into another
room.

"I'm sorry to see you've not outgrown your weaknesses," said she. "It's
my fault, I'm afraid, but I hope the Lord will forgive me for it."

Helen was not afraid of the lonely room, so near and so lately occupied,
but she was afraid of encountering Clinton, who might be lingering by
the open door. But Miss Thusa's request, sick and helpless as she was,
had the authority of a command, and she rose to obey her. She barred the
outer door without catching the gleam of Clinton's dark, shining hair,
and having brought the wheel, with panting breath, for it was indeed
very heavy, sat down with a feeling of security and relief, since the
enemy was now shut out by double barriers. One window was partly raised
to admit the air to Miss Thusa's oppressed lungs, but they were both
fastened above.

"You had better not exert yourself, Miss Thusa," said Helen, after
giving her the medicine which the doctor had prescribed. "You are not
strong enough to talk much now."

"I shall never be stronger, my child. My day is almost spent, and the
night cometh, wherein no man can work. I always thought I should have a
sudden call, and when I was struck with that sharp pain, I knew my
Master was knocking at the door. The Lord be praised, I don't want to
bar him out. I'm ready and willing to go, willing to close my long and
lonely life. I have had few to love, and few to care for me, but, thank
God, the one I love best of all does not forsake me in my last hour.
Helen, darling, God bless you--God bless you, my blessed child."

The voice of the aged spinster faltered, and tear after tear trickled
like wintry rain down her furrowed cheeks. All the affections of a
naturally warm and generous heart lingered round the young girl, who was
still to her the little child whom she had cradled in her arms, and
hushed into the stillness of awe by her ghostly legends. Helen,
inexpressibly affected, leaned her head on Miss Thusa's pillow, and wept
and sobbed audibly. She did not know, till this moment, how strong and
deep-rooted was her attachment for this singular and isolated being.
There was an individuality, a grandeur in her character, to which
Helen's timid, upward-looking spirit paid spontaneous homage. The wild
sweep of