that he could be in danger. She imagined it to be a question of time only; she could not fancy that he could succumb. As to the possibility of death, such a thought never entered the child's brain. The lady was indeed right when she spoke of caution being needful when the child's eyes were to be thus roughly opened, without that instinctive warning which had first struck into her younger sister's heart, whereby the blow had been deadened as it fell upon her. It would be a sad and difficult task.

This is how that kind creature set about it, Dot sitting the while at her feet, and as Trixie ran up as they entered the room below, from the window of which she gazed.

"Well?" she cried eagerly, "can we go? I am so tired of this weary waiting. He must be well enough now!"

The woman kissed her tenderly, then bade her come and sit down beside her. Trixie repeated her question.

"No, not yet, darling. You must be good and patient."

"Ah!" sighed the child, "always that same talk of patience. I sicken at the word."

"It is needed, love."

"Yes, but for how long? for ever?

"In many cases it is so; in this world, that is;

often hereafter only comes the reward of it,” replied the lady gravely.

Dot glanced anxiously at her sister, to see if maybe those words carried any gentle warning with them, as she hoped they might do. How they re-echoed what he had so often told them!

But Trixie only sighed more wearily still, and said,

'I suppose it must be as you say."

Then she sat down as bidden.

The lady began to read to the children, a sweet story, which taught many a wholesome lesson; tale, on every line of which was graven a holy teaching, one which led up to a sad, mournful climax. She hoped that this would, if nothing more, direct Trixie's thought into a solemn groove, and thus aid her purpose. It was so, for as the ending came, the poor child was much affected. Tears were stealing down her cheeks as the woman closed her book, and looked pityingly into the upturned face. There was a long pause.

"It is a beautiful story," murmured Trixie, her dreamy eyes now fixed upon the fire, where the flames leapt upward in the twilight.

"Yes, indeed," replied the lady. how true!

"And, alas,

Truth

What little of fiction in reality.

seems stamped upon its very pages."

She watched anxiously.

"Ah," exclaimed Trixie, as

she glanced up

quickly, "you think it might be true?"

"Not think, darling, I know it."

(The story was beginning to do its work.) The child passed a hand across her brow, and whispered,

"That is dreadful to think of. But how can you know it might happen to human, not imaginary beings, as this writer of course tells of?"

The lady's face was very white and thoughtful. Only that which can enable me, little one: experience, the knowledge that it does."

"Do you mean indeed that you have known such things to happen here: trials and troubles such as these; so sad an ending to life as here spoken of?" cried Trixie, with much emotion.

"Alas! in plenty," was the reply, as the woman held the child's hands within her own, and gazed with mournful pity into the tear-dimmed eyes.

Trixie started back; a sudden spasm passed across her face, an echo, as it seemed, from her heart, o'er which was clasped a little hand. She glanced at Dot; her eyes were turned sadly away. She sought those of the kind lady; they, too, were there. Her lips parted as if to speak; beyond a low wail there came no sound, as the child fell forward

upon the woman fainting.

Poor Trixie ! Thus

were both those maidens prepared for the summons when it should come to them.

It came at length; after a few days indeed, which seemed to them as years, so long drawn out were they, the message was sent from the sick house that Great-heart could now see the little ones; Trixie for a while first, then Dot to follow with the lady. The old butler, who had but rarely left his master's side during all that trying time, came to take the elder child across. The children flew to their kind friend as he entered the room in which the three sat patiently waiting. His face looked pale and troubled, but he could tell them nothing. "Was there hope?" He must not say; his lips were sealed. Miss Trixie was to come over, and at once. Ere going, the woman clasped the child to her, and whispered,—

"Be brave, darling. Above all, remember!" Trixie was wonderfully composed. She linked her hand within the old retainer's, and said calmly,— "Come, I am ready."

Dot and her companion stood and watched at the window, to follow the instant they were bidden. They could not have waited there more than two or three minutes; but oh, the agony of that time of watching! Then the door opposite opened slowly; this was the signal, and they too went over.

They stood upon the stairs of that dull house. Dot was once more within that place where, though herself absent, all her thoughts had been throughout these dreary months. The woman paused at the room door, and whispered the same kindly words of warning into the child's ear. The answer came back in a firm voice," Have no fear; I am prepared for everything."

Was she, alas! To see lying on that bed there, in the still chamber, so bent and broken a form as that? To gaze upon so sad a picture as this human frame, from which pain and suffering had chased all strength and power, to leave but this awful wreck behind? on a face so white, so drawn? on hands so thin and bloodless as these? where before had been health and colour, to mark the dull pallor of sickness? Was Dot ready to find that noble head shorn thus of those locks in which a tinge of gold had ofttimes glistened to note the matted beard, grown untended during all those hours of unconscious raving? Was this fairy maiden really prepared to meet those sunken eyes with composure? had she of a truth strength enough within her to look calmly into them, when the only words written there were a legacy from suffering, a memento of decay? Could she indeed stand unmoved in face of the one word which was written on all around, the one short word, Death?