call themselves pious, too—suffer for their
own!"

Mabel noticed with a heavy heart that Jerry
spoke of little Corda in the past, and as if she
were already gone from them. " Is there no
hope for her?" she asked, tearfully. " Have
they good advice? Has anything been left
undone? So young a creature! Are they sure
they cannot save her?"

"My dear young lady," said Jerry, solemnly,
"when you see the little angel face of her,
you will know, as I know, that her life is
ebbing away fast. And when you see, too,
how peaceful and tranquil she is, and think
of what her life has been, and was like to be
in future, I think you won't desire to keep her
here."

"Is—is the brother in the house now?"
asked Mabel, as they approached their
destination.

"He is in the house, but not in her room.
He sits like a log in his own chamber, next to
hers, neither moving nor speaking. When she
asks for him, he goes in to her bedside and holds
her hand, and lets her kiss him and talk to him,
but he gets away again directly she will let him
go, as if the sight of her were dreadful to him.
And well it may be. The old father, up to
yesterday, refused to believe in any danger at
all. Now I think he sees it, and he is like a
demented creature."

"It is a blessing for the child that you are
near her, Mr. Shaw," said Mabel.

"Indeed, then, I'm afraid it's the first time
in my life that I have been a blessing to any
one! But she is very fond of me, the dear
little bird; and as to Lingo! Ah, Miss Bell,
you know something of him, but what he has
been in these days is more than ye could
credit."

They reached the house, and entered softly.
The cross-grained servant, a good deal subdued
in manner, was on the watch for them. " Come
up-stairs by yourself first, Miss Bell, dear," said
Jerry. " It's a melancholy scene for ye, but
you wouldn't have had me disregard the last
wishes of the poor darling. I know you've
always been good to her, and she loves you with
all her heart."

Mabel followed the old man up-stairs, and
entered the bedroom. Corda lay passive in the
little white bed, and at the first sight of her
face, Mabel could not restrain her tears. And
yet there was no expression of suffering on it.
It was peaceful and serene, with a strange far-
away look in the lustrous eyes. Her bright
hair lay all curling and waving in rich masses
on the pillow, and Mabel could not help
observing the singular contrast between the rich
strong life there seemed to be in those chesnut
tresses, and the evident fading of the pale
little countenance beneath them. When the
child saw her, she smiled, and feebly held out her
arms. "Don't cry, dear Miss Mabel," she
whispered. " I am not sorry now. I think it is
best. I think it may do some good to—to
others if I die."

She lay still again for a minute or two,
holding Mabel's hand pressed to her cheek.
"My little Corda—dear little Corda, is there
anything in the world that I can do for you?
Anything that you wish?"

"I wished to see you, and you are here. It
seems to me that every one is very good to me.
See, papa," she said, weakly, trying to move
the curtain on the other side of the bed, " see,
dear papa, here is Miss Mabel. Look how
happy I am. Do look, papa, it will make you
more unsorry."

Mr. Trescott bowed down his head on the
side of the bed, and moaned, "Oh, Corda,
Corda, don't leave me, Corda. Don't go away
from me, my little one, my little one."

A look of trouble flitted across the child's face.
"It won't be for long, dear papa," she said.
"You will see me again. And I am going to
mamma. I am glad mamma is there. She will
know me, though I may not know her at first.
I am so glad," she repeated in a whisper, "that
mamma is there!"

There was silence again, only broken by Mr.
Trescott's sobs. Presently Corda drew down
Mabel's head, and put her lips to her ear. " Is
he here with you?"

"Mr. Charlewood? Yes, darling."

"How good of him to come! He was always
good to Corda. Papa, dear, I am going to ask
one thing of you, perhaps the last thing I shall
ever ask. You won't refuse me, dear?" He
could not speak, but made a sign with his head.
The child went on: " I want to say a word to
Mr. Charlewood and Miss Mabel all by
themselves. It won't take a minute, papa. Will
you wait outside while I say it?"

Her father rose slowly and left the room,
staggering as he went like a drunken man.
Jerry Shaw went down to call Clement, and
Mabel remained alone with Corda. " See,"
said the latter, pointing downward to where
Lingo was lying perfectly motionless, with his
head between his paws, " he has stayed so all
day. Poor Lingo!" At her voice the dog
raised his head and looked at her with his wistful
eyes. Corda stretched down her hand to
him, and he licked it gently; but the little
effort of the movement seemed to have
exhausted her strength, and she fell back on the
pillow with closed eyes. Mabel silently bathed
her forehead with some eau-de-Cologne, and
presently, when she heard Clement's footsteps
on the stairs, the child opened her eyes, which
looked larger and more lustrous than ever.
"Tell him to come in, please," she said to
Mabel. Her own voice was growing too weak
to be heard at any distance from the bed.

Clement entered and placed himself near
Mabel, by Corda's pillow. A smile that was
almost joyous in its brightness came into Corda's
face as she looked at them both.

"Do you remember, Mr. Charlewood," she
said, putting her wasted hand into his, " how
you used to come and see me in New Bridge-
street, when my bone was broken? You were
so kind to me!"