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"then my child is safe in heaven!” And she languidly closed her eyes again, and turned away her face.

Surprised, and somewhat anxious, Rachel Shepherd returned to watch by the child. An hour passed away, during which it seemed to be struggling with death. Then a change came; the livid hue disappeared, and at length it slightly unclosed its eyes.

"It will live," said the nurse, with a smile of triumph, and she got up to lay it in the cradle.

"Let me take it to Amy," said Charlotte, the younger girl; "it will please her so much to see it for one moment." And, taking the tiny roll of flannel in her arms, she approached her sister.

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Amy, your child, will live -live to bless you!"

Again the invalid opened her eyes, and kissed the child, which Charlotte held to her lips, while she murmured some words too feebly to be heard. But no smile passed over her face, and again she turned away,

almost as if displeased at the interruption.

"Amy seems very weak, nurse," said Charlotte, as she gave her back the child; "is it right to be so?"

Mrs. Roberts walked quickly into the next room, then in a moment flew past Charlotte down the stairs of the cottage. In another minute she returned with the village doctor, and they went together into Amy's room. A short time after, the latter came out with a grave face, and asked for Miss Shepherd. Rachel approached.

"I am sorry to tell you, Miss Shepherd, thus abruptly, that your sister is dying. But she is past my skill-I fear she has not many hours to live."

"Poor Amy!" said Rachel, calmly, "I feared it would be thus. Her short, sad life is ended." This was spoken musingly, as if to herself. Then, turning to the doctor, she begged him to be so kind as to send Mr. Price to them immediately. He kindly shook her hand, and withdrew.

Rachel again approached her sister's bed. "How do you feel, Amy?" she tenderly asked.

"Better," said the poor girl; and, for the first time, she roused herself, and a smile played on her lips.

"Do you really feel better, Amy? I feared it was not so: Mr. Franklin...."

"I know what

you would

say, Rachel ;I am dying!-I feel it, and I am happy

to die."

"Have you no fear?" asked Rachel, bending over her.

"Should I be afraid, Rachel ? I have suffered so much, I have thought so much of death....perhaps it is because I am so weak -but I feel happy to die."

"I have sent for Mr. Price, dear Amy, and he will talk to you. Will you look at your poor little child before he comes?" She fetched the infant, now sleeping, and laid it by its mother's side. "We shall call it Amy?" she said, inquiringly.

"No, Rachel, don't let it be like its poor

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mother. What is his mother's name?—I am so weak, I forget it." She was silent for a moment. "Ah! I remember; he told me it was Isabel; call her Isabel;'-his mother's name may touch him more than his poor wife's. Oh! Rachel, be a mother to my child; and, if ever you see George again, tell him how I loved him and prayed for him. I am very weaklet Mr. Price come quickly."

A few hours later, Mrs. Denison calmly breathed her last.

Mr. Shepherd had been for nearly fifty years curate of Ellerton. The rectors had changed many times, but he had always, not, perhaps, without reason, been passed over. After a time, he became indifferent about preferment, a small private fortune enabling him to live in tolerable comfort; and he wished for nothing that would remove him from Ellerton, to which he was much attached. He was a good man, kind-hearted, and charitable

-but of little intellect, of little knowledge, beyond the commonest theological attainments, and of little marked character of any sort. He had married a woman far superior to himself; but, though he tenderly loved her, she was even till her death-soon after the birth of her fourth child unappreciated

by her husband.

Of his four children, the youngest-a sonwas a midshipman; the three daughters grew up in his house. Rachel and Charlotte Shepherd, the eldest and the youngest, although they were both, in strength of character, superior to him, were cast in the same mould. But Amy, the second, was like her mother, as well in her disposition as in her exquisite beauty; and, though there was much affection, there was little sympathy between the sisters. Amy was romantic, dreamy, and melancholy-indulging in visions of brightness and refinement, which it was impossible should ever be realized. Her sisters were busy, active, industrious; devoting themselves, heart and soul, to the good of the

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