The little room was darkened, and the still form was freed from all its pains—no more fear of the ridicule of an unfeeling world—no more struggling upward toward a tottering eminence—no more sighings after a higher sympathy than a narrow sphere can insure—no more tremblings and palpitations lest the desired good vanish from the sight—no more sinning nor sorrowing; but the quiet figure lay peaceful and still beneath the pure covering, with the bright flowers above and loving hearts around. There are no outbursts of anguish in the presence of the hallowed dead, but a calmness that speaks of the hope of a resurrection. The mother and her daughter are alone with the departed, and, as they look upon his placid features, Kittie recalls the time when she met him, years ago, in the scorching noontide heat, and contrasted his forlorn and pitiable condition with the pampered and luxurious state of her cousin Willie, and, as her mother's words recur to her, "Perhaps not a pity that he has not Willie's blessings, dear Kittie." She echoes in her own heart, "not a pity, not not a pity!"

Oh! no; the pity now is all for the high-born lad, whose privileges are all wasted and perverted, and could she choose for herself one of these two lives, she would not hesitate to take the lowly cottage on the plain, with all its sad inconveniences and distasteful accompaniments, with the exalted Christian mind, rather than the glory, and beauty, and ease of the great house, with the weakened intellect and the brutish soul.

There is a small trunk in Archie's chamber, with a card nailed upon the top, and the inscription, "Miss Kitty Fay;" and Patrick lifts it reverently, with no vain curiosity, and carries it to the "great house." He knows that it contains many a manuscript that helped to dry up the fount of life. They are all dedicated to Kittie, who inspired them; and it is a great comfort to be reading them over while he is lying there as if asleep and unable to speak. They make every thing plain to her concerning the past, and they confirm her in the vow that was made beneath the old elm, long ago. It is such a treasure, that precious legacy; so filled with beautiful thoughts, and so free from earthly dross. Besides, it is all her own, sacred from the world. No other eye has ever seen it, and nobody else can ever know the secret workings of the great mind that is no longer clogged by the crippled body.

The old leather portfolio has come to a blessed use—the comforting and supporting the afflicted. Much need is there, too, of comfort where the wound is so deeply hidden. Nobody knows Kittie's secret; not even her fond mother discerns more than a natural solemnity at the presence of death. It is so hard to go about the house with a cheerful face and an apparent indifference, when the full heart would fain express itself freely. But harder still was it for Kittie to be subjected to her cousin's importunities at a time when she had scarcely room for a common sympathy for him.

She had walked out alone, and had sought the old elm; it was so soothing to be there, with no eye to observe her emotion. Why should Willie seek her then of all times in the world? and for such a purpose!

"It can not be, Willie—you know it can not be," said she, in firm and decided accents.

"But I have set my heart upon it, Kittie," replied her cousin. "You see, we have been much together, and I am used to your ways, and I don't think I could easily find any body else that would exactly suit me, so I've concluded it is best to have the matter arranged immediately. There is nothing in the way but this funeral, and that will be over to-morrow, and what do you say to Monday week, Kittie? Will that be soon enough, my birdie?" and the too confident youth drew near and reached out his arm to encircle her waist, but she was no longer there.

"Soon enough!" What! to be wedded to a compound of the most hideous deformity! "Soon enough!" To blot out the memory of the pure and immortal one, and to link herself to a revolting and miserable object! It were better to be lying peacefully beneath the green earth than to walk about a living corpse, with but the semblance of animation. What mockery it seemed to her as she stood by the silent dead! The pet name, too, was almost an insult to the pure and loving heart that had smothered its springing affections, until the life also was crushed and gone. Oh! that she could tear out the remembrance of her cousin's weakness and folly so that she need abate nothing of her accustomed kindness and attention. Henceforth she must withhold from him even the natural sympathy which his infirmities demand, and perhaps be forced to add another tinge to the bitterness of his fate, by a constant coldness and indifference toward him.

Poor child! the ills of life come seldom singly, yet how much greater is the might that can rise above and conquer a complication of sorrows. There was strength for Kittie in the contemplation of the serene face that was before her—so free from every shadow that had darkened it when animate. There were exhortations to patience in its hallowed expression, and lessons upon the nothingness of our temporary trials, and inspiring promises of the end—that glorious end that will compensate for all our sad beginnings. No wonder Kittie Fay was more than ever tranquil as she stepped again within the circle of her home; and no wonder the wound that lay deeply hidden was unsuspected there.