"O, that it were to the day of my own death," exclaimed Elizabeth with fervency. "There are few persons to whom my heart earnestly inclines, and I would have them with me through this life, and all eternity."

"My dear sister, these things are not at our disposal. But let us consider the subject: every night we experience temporary dissolution: and then we are separated, even as if the hand of death had smitten us; when we go to rest, we have no positive a.s.surance that we are to open our eyes again upon the objects of this world; still we project schemes; calculate upon probable and improbable events; but the entire suspension of our faculties is never taken into the account. Yet we are ignorant whether we are to open our eyes on the objects of this world, or that which is to come. I own I have not any desponding thoughts; I rest alone upon the mercies and the merits of a suffering and a redeeming Saviour; he is my sole refuge. To our mother, my conscience acquits me either of intentional errors, or errors of omission. This is a source of the purest consolation; it clears the rough, the th.o.r.n.y path to the valley of death. Elizabeth, my dearest sister, listen to me before I go hence, and be no more seen. Every night recall to mind the actions of the day.

Let this be the question you put to yourself: "Have I done my duty in all things?" Where you have failed, let the morning sun, as it rises, be a token to you that another day is given for wise and good purposes; in the grave there is no remembrance of error, no atonement to be made for transgression, for neglect of the social duties of life."

Elizabeth gazed at her sister with feelings of tenderness and sorrow.

"All things pa.s.s away," said Jane, as she raised her eyes to her sister's agitated face; "but 'when this mortal has put on immortality,'

then Elizabeth, when we meet again, it will not be for transient days, and years, but for ages of eternity."

Exhausted with speaking so long, she pointed to the book upon the table.

"The spirit is willing," said she, faintly, "but my voice is weak; will you oblige me, sister?"

"From my heart I will," exclaimed Elizabeth; "would that I could not only oblige, but retain you for our comfort, for this world to my mother will be a wilderness indeed."

"Not so," said Jane, tears flowing into her eyes; "my affectionate, my warm-hearted sister will be my subst.i.tute! O, Elizabeth, friend dearest to me, may you be blessed where your heart is fixed."

Elizabeth started, and her countenance became pale as death.

"Sister," Jane slowly added, "you could not keep the secret from me; I have traced it in all your actions; but, rest a.s.sured, it will descend with me to the grave."

CHAPTER XIV.

Elizabeth was restless and uneasy the whole of the day that her mother had taken her departure for Colonel Vincent's. The evening was wet and gloomy; the young people could not, therefore, take their usual exercise in the play-ground. After sitting some time with her sister and Miss Arden, she sauntered into the school-room, to observe how they were employed. Some of the young ladies were attending to their lessons for the following day. One party had spread the road to happiness upon a work-box; all anxious to attain the desired haven. Another young lady was seated alone, joining the map of Europe. In a corner of the room, apart from all her companions, Miss Bruce was reading the admirable instructive tale "Display." Elizabeth looked over her shoulder, "My dear, I thought you had read that book six months ago."

"O yes, ma'am; but I can read it over and over again: there is not a new book now in the school."

"You mean," said Elizabeth, smiling, "that you have read them all. But can you explain the word "Display?" for I think most young ladies are partial to it, in one shape or another." A carriage now stopped at the door; and Elizabeth exclaimed, "who is in that carriage?" Miss Grey, who was near the window, raised herself upon a box, and looking over the blind, cried, "Mrs. Adair, ma'am, and Miss Isabella Vincent."

Elizabeth hastened from the room, and met her mother at the hall door, joyfully exclaiming, "O, my dear mother, this is an unexpected, welcome pleasure! But how is Mrs. Vincent?"

"Composed and comfortable; the operation was performed yesterday: but it was not my intention to desert you: how could you think so?"

The truth was, Mrs. Adair had called upon the physician, and begged that he would inform her daughter that she would return in the evening: but a press of engagements had prevented his visit to Jane, who now with joy beheld her mother enter her chamber.

"I thought you would return to see me on my journey," she exclaimed; "and you are returned, my dear mother. Blessed be this hour!"

Miss Arden and Miss Damer, from the hour they met in the summer-house, were strict friends. Their capacities were similar, and they were at the head of the different cla.s.ses. On the days appointed for geography, the young ladies were in a room called the study. Miss Arden had observed that one of the servants, a respectable looking young woman, generally contrived to enter the apartment, and busy herself with one thing or another: but always looked, anxiously at the globes, or the maps, and stopped a moment to listen, either to the teacher or the pupils. Miss Arden noticed the circ.u.mstance to her friend; "I will certainly ask Catherine," she said, "if she has any motive in attending to our pursuits; there is something in her countenance that excites my curiosity."

The first time she met her alone, she made the inquiry.

"I have, indeed, ma'am, a motive," said Catherine; "I would give all my wages, could I but learn as you do."

"But of what use, Catherine, would learning be to you? You can read your Bible; and it will shew you all that is necessary for you to know. Your duty as a servant, and the way to heaven, the place where we all hope to meet, when we have done with this world, and its cares."

"Ah, ma'am, I am not satisfied even with knowing this, though it is all that a servant should know."

"I do not understand you, Catherine. Tell me why you wish to gain other knowledge?"

"Because, ma'am, I am most wishful to be useful to my parents. They are poor, and have a large family to bring up. If I could but open a little school in our village, what a blessing should I be to them!"

"Well, Catherine," said Miss Arden, after considering a little, "I will do what I can for you--I mean if Miss Damer approves; for I dare not trust to my own judgment. Meet me in the school-room early to-morrow morning, and I well tell you how it is to be."

When the friends met in the play-ground, they talked the subject over.

"There cannot, I think, be any thing wrong in doing good to a fellow-creature," said Miss Damer, "therefore I think we may venture; but we must rise an hour earlier than usual."

Catherine was delighted when she heard the result of their conference; and, with many expressions of thankfulness, promised to leave a lamp at their door.

The young ladies began the employment of teaching with alacrity. They endeavoured to ground Catherine in those things that would be useful in a village school. But geography her mind was bent upon, so Miss Arden presented to her a book; likewise several little works, which she thought would be useful.

One morning, however, they were surprised in the midst of their lessons.

"Begin that line again," said Miss Arden. Elizabeth had walked gently into the room, and now stood by the table where the two young ladies were seated, and Catherine standing. When they beheld her, they all started, and looked aghast. "You are very early at your tasks, young ladies! But I did not know that we had a new pupil. Pray when did she arrive?"

"I beg you a thousand pardons, ma'am, for leading the young ladies to do wrong! It was all my fault," said Catherine.

Miss Arden related the matter plainly as it was.

"I commend Catherine," said Elizabeth, "for her wish to serve her parents; nor am I offended with you, young ladies, for wishing to serve her. But you must beware that we are not to do a wrong thing, even with the very best motives. There is always something mean in acting clandestinely. Why could you not have been candid, and told me her wish? You must not meet here again. Catherine, when you have leisure, continue your lessons; and I will fix upon some other mode of instructing you; at least a proper time, not by the light of a lamp."

CHAPTER XV.

When the physician was first called in to attend Jane, he strictly forbad any person sleeping with her: Elizabeth, therefore, removed to a small camp bed, which was placed by her sister.

A few mornings after Mrs. Adair's visit to Mrs. Vincent, Jane suddenly awoke; and in an earnest, quick tone of voice, begged that her sister would come to her. "But first draw aside the window curtain," said she, "That is right. Now come into my bed--only this morning--never--never again."

Surprised at a request so unusual, Elizabeth instantly obeyed. "Do not sit up, sister, nor creep from me; lay your head upon my pillow."

Jane now folded her arms round her sister's neck, and kissed her tenderly.--"This is my first and last proof of affection! O, sister!

where--and when shall we meet again?"

The sun had risen, and gilded every part of the room. Jane raised herself, as if by magic. "Let me behold every thing--for I shall never behold any objects upon earth again! This day my soul will be required by my Heavenly Father! Ah, my soul! it is an awful thing to die; even with hope and trust in thy Almighty Power! But Thou art mighty to strike,--merciful and gracious in raising thy servants unto glory."

Jane now paused; other thoughts seemed to arise. Her glazed eyes wandered from object to object. "Ah! there is my writing-desk; give that to my mother! There is my Bible; that is for my dear little favourite!

Here is my watch; but I cannot see the minute finger move. It is of no consequence: time will soon be over! Keep it, my dear Elizabeth, and when you look upon it, remember we are to meet again!--Ah! thou bright luminary!" she exclaimed, with fervency, "I hail thee, this, my last morning upon earth, as the evidence of that Being, who will lead me through the valley of the shadow of death, to never-ending glory! What is this life, my dearest Elizabeth, when we come to die? But where is my mother? I am weak--very weak, and faint."

"Let me support you, dear Jane," said Elizabeth, trembling with emotion.

"Well, sister," said Jane, faintly, "you shall support me. I will die in your arms!"

Jane dropped in a state of insensibility upon her pillow. Elizabeth rang the bell; and the next minute Mrs. Adair was in the room. She stepped to the side of the bed where her youngest daughter lay; and, stooping, listened to hear her breathe. "My affectionate, my dutiful child!" Here she ceased, for tears checked her utterance. Jane sighed deeply; her eyes gradually opened, and, at length, rested upon her mother: by slow degrees recollection returned.