Edith's Release.

"He will live," gravely pronounced the old Boonville doctor of forty years' good repute. "Only just in time," he added. "Fearful case of exhaustion and loss of blood. Needs careful nursing—very careful. Who can take care of him here?"

"O, I will take every care," exclaimed Alma, coming forward from the little circle surrounding the doctor for information.

"Well! Well! We need have no fear then," he said kindly.

"And poor Mrs. Hester?" asked one sympathetic onlooker.

"Wonderfully controlled, considering the shock. Almost too much control! I would be glad to see the tears come. A little hysterics now, a little spell of woman's weakness would be a good thing for her," he said, with a broad smile at the ladies. "Good-day, everyone, good-day," and the old man passed on to his carriage.

Many voices gave vent to satisfaction at the good doctor's report. The rest of the day little was talked of among the borders, but George's and Edith's narrow escape and rescue.

When found, Edith was lying unconscious beside George, who was taken up for dead. With the hope of saving Edith, they had sought aid in the quickest possible manner, and immediate attention was given to both.

Alma, alternately by the side of George and Edith, scarcely knew the hours pass, until she stood with the group to await the doctor's verdict.

For the first time she breathed freely. She turned to little Harold, who stood near with round, wide eyes and parted lips.

"Be Mother's good boy, and take care of yourself, dear," she said gently, "Mus has her hands full now."

"You bet!" he returned with grave emphasis—and with this assurance, Alma sought Edith's room.

Entering, she stepped quietly to the bedside.

Edith lay motionless, her eyes wide open, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Two hectic spots burned in her cheeks. Slowly she turned her gaze toward Alma.

Not once in these long hours, had she asked for George. The doctor advised them to avoid any mention of his name. She was not delirious, but a little might make her so.

Alma took Edith's hand and stroked it gently.

"You will be all right again very soon, dear."

Edith smiled sadly. "No, Alma dear, I will not be well again. I have not long to live. Will you do something for me quickly?"

"O, Edith, don't talk that way?" exclaimed Alma, greatly distressed. "You know I would not deceive you. The doctor says you are doing wonderfully."

"Yes, Alma, but the doctor does not know all. I'm glad to die, dear,—and God will use me on the other side for His great work." She paused in her weakness, and then continued, "Alma, don't lose one moment. I want Betty. Don't get me a nurse. I want Betty. I'm going soon, and Howard—send for him too."

"Edith dear," persisted Alma gently, "you're not going to leave us; do put that thought from you. But I'll have Betty here before night, and Howard too."

Edith did not reply, but closed her eyes, as if to sleep.

Alma telegraphed to Howard, who replied, that if it was not really serious, he could not come for two days on account of important business.

Betty, however, took the next train to Boonville, and arrived there about dark.

"Alma," she said, "I told President Gladder all about this sad affair, and he said I could stay to help you until both were better."

"O, I'm so thankful!" exclaimed Alma, relieved. "Edith has a wrong idea that she is going to die. You must talk it out of her directly."

Betty was pale but calm, when she approached Edith's bedside. For a moment she silently gazed at the sweet face on the pillow. The closed eyelids slowly opened, and Edith looked at her with a great fondness.

"So you've come, Betty dear? I knew you would."

Betty knelt down by the bed and, taking both hot hands in hers, she kissed them again and again.

"My Edith! dearest, of course I came! Now I'll stay with you until I've helped you get quite well. President Gladder said I could."

"He's kind, Betty, God will bless him. But, Betty, I'm not going to get well."

"Whatever has put such an idea into your head?" asked Betty smiling, and controlling herself with effort.

"God has told me so, Betty—in a wonderful vision. No, I'm not delirious dear—my mind is clear. I've only a little while to be with you dear. I want you to talk to me of the gospel; all the time that is left. I know it is true, now that it is too late to be baptized. Betty promise me, you'll be baptized for me when I'm gone?"

This was too much for Betty. The tears came as she looked into the eyes of this dying friend, who had done so much for her.

"O, dearest, I would promise to do anything, but you must try to get well. We need you—you must try!"

"I wouldn't be much use here," returned Edith, "but"—then her eyes shone with a sudden happy light—"I'm going to do a great work when I pass over. Listen—my vision was so plain. I was in a strange country—I saw hundreds of stricken people pass me by; they were captives in chains, and they were dragging along, with faces, Betty, those sad faces! They looked at me beseechingly, with sunken eyes that held such a haunted hopeless expression. I tried to speak to them, but could not. On, on they passed. Their number seemed endless. I felt stifled by their misery, and uttered a low cry. Then I looked up to see an angel standing by me. He pointed to the passing crowds. "You who have loved the destitute," he said, "do not be afraid to die. God has ordained you to preach the Gospel to these waiting spirits—now hungry for the truth.' That was all. The vision vanished, but it was enough. It wasn't a dream. It was a message from God, Betty. Tell Alma it was a real vision."

Betty felt that Edith spoke the truth. A sad certainty threatened to overcome her. Silently she prayed for strength.

Edith's effort had exhausted her. Gently Betty stroked her head as she fell asleep.

Then she sought Alma and told her all.

"Alma, it is best to face the worst. Let us be brave. Perhaps it was a dream, but Edith is so sure. Let us pray for strength to accept whatever comes."

Toward morning Edith grew weaker. The doctor came.

"Is she in danger?" asked Alma anxiously.

"A big change for the worse," replied the doctor gravely. "Keep her very quiet. I'll come again about noon."

Betty sent for the elders to come as soon as possible. But soon Edith feebly called Betty and Alma to her side.

"Betty, hold me up in your arms. Alma, come close. I can't see very well."

Betty held her gently, Edith's fair head resting on her shoulder.

"Now, kiss me, Betty—and Alma," said Edith with a happy smile.

As they kissed her, she murmured, "Goodbye, dear friends, goodbye."

Then her lovely eyes lit up with an unearthly rapture. Her spirit was freeing itself of mortal frailty.

"Look! Mother! Father! Yes, I'm coming—coming—" and with a last faint gasp, she passed away, leaving Betty holding her lifeless body, in agony of grief, and Alma kneeling sobbing by their side.