It was Saturday, the children’s holiday. Miss Lane was walking through the glen towards the village, and looked at everything with pleasure. The ground was covered with a light snow, and the trees wore a sparkling coat of mail. It seemed as if a new earth had been created during the night, so strange and beautiful was the aspect of the forest.

The air was soft and fresh, and quite still; the snow was like an exquisitely pure carpet under her feet, and here and there, a branch, laden with its weight of pearls, bent over the path. It was more like a dream than anything real, for the trees wore a foliage fairy-like in its delicacy, and a gray sky hung over the whole. Sounds came muffled to her ears, and the brook was ice-bound. Everything was so strangely, wonderfully beautiful, that her heart was thrilled, and she was half afraid to think how very glad she was—how very fair the world seemed. So, moving on quickly in the lightness of her heart, pushing the snow with her feet, she came out of the long avenue of crystal, and knocked at the cottage door.

“She was took bad in the night, ma’am,” was the step-mother’s reply to her inquiries, and the awful nearness of death fell upon the marvellous loveliness of the day, changing the bounding gladness of the lady’s heart into a calm, quiet sadness, and leaving an impress of wonder and fright on the hard face of the woman, as they stood in the presence of that soul so near the borders of the silent land.

“She’s been lying just so for two hours, Miss. I can’t get her to open her eyes or to speak. The doctor’s been here, and he says ’taint no use; so he went away again.”

The perfectly white face of the child was upturned towards them, her eyes were closed, and deep black circles enclosed them, sunken in their sockets. The battle of life was almost over. The little gleam of brighter days was about to broaden into the full sunlight of the celestial abode, and a land of love was opening for the lonely heart.

“Phoebe, it is I, your friend, Miss Lane. Can you not speak to me?”

The heavy lids were lifted, and a ray from the dimming eyes rested upon the lady’s face, as she leaned over the miserable bed, the tears dropping silently.

“The doctor said he thought nothin’ wouldn’t rouse her, ma’am. She is nearly gone, for sure;” and the step-mother lifted her apron to her eyes.

The father, haggard from drink, yet with a certain expression of awe on his face, too, came in and stood on the other side of the bed. With great gentleness, Miss Lane administered a cordial, and soon the deathlike look left Phoebe’s face a little. The fingers lying languidly in her friend’s palm closed in a slight pressure, and her lips moved in a whisper. The teacher put down her ear and caught the words, “The Holy Communion—send for Mr. Payne.”

In a moment the step-mother was hastening for the man of God.

“Father,” said Phoebe again, speaking with much difficulty; and the wretched man came nearer, so that his child’s eyes rested upon his face. “I am going to leave you—oh, be ready to meet me; promise:” and the solemn tones of her voice broke up the ice of wickedness and hardness about the man’s heart, till he wept.

There was a great stillness in the room again, and it was only broken by a low moan of pain from the dying child.

“Do you suffer, Phoebe?” asked Miss Lane.

“Oh yes, and it is dark—lonely.”

“Jesus is there, my dear; trust in Him.” “I cannot see—oh, save me.”

“Our Saviour is waiting, Phoebe. He is near. Do not fear. Lift up your heart unto the Lord.”

A light broke over her face, and the moaning ceased. She moved her hand to her breast; and, lifting the sheet, Miss Lane saw lying there, the little Prayer-book she had given her, with its faded heliotrope between the leaves. The tears fell faster, and she kissed the poor, wasted cheek of the girl.

“That makes me happy—” she murmured, with such a look of delight that a great pang passed through the teacher’s heart, as she thought of how little love had brightened the poor girl’s life, when one kiss was felt amidst her suffering to be such a joy.

“I’ll remember it in Paradise—you have taught me the way there,” she continued.

And now Mr. Payne came, and the solemn sacrament began. Kneeling round the bed of that departing soul, the broken body and shed blood of the Lord were received by chastened spirits—while “the peace which passeth understanding” rested in the hearts of all.

It was over, and Phoebe lay on her pillow exhausted, but with a calm mind, and an expression of perfect joy on her face. And now the end was very near. For one, two hours, the soul wrestled with the body, and the pain was hard to bear: but then a calmer time came, when she was free from pain, and before sun-setting she fell asleep, or rather woke into light and life.

Her friend smoothed back the soft hair, closed the eyes, took the little Prayer-book from the dead hands, gave it to the humbled father with a silent prayer, and reverently kissing the marble brow, went softly home through the quiet woods, feeling as if she had been close to heaven.

At the sun-setting, its brilliant rays illuminated all the trees and shrubs till the forests were resplendent. The sky was blue, and a few clouds floated near the horizon, tinted with a border of gold. In the distance, the heaven and the woods seemed to meet; the clouds, the millions of branches sparkling with diamonds, appeared—one might conceive—like the gates at the entrance of Paradise, and shining upon them was the splendor of the sun behind.

A soul had entered into rest, and God’s world, held in his hand, was made all beautiful by the reflection of his glory. Suddenly, darkness came, and the wonderful beauty faded away.