Could it be that her father was dying--the dear father who was all the world to her?
Oh, what would life be worth without him?
how could she go on living?
How soon would the dread parting come?
how many more days or hours might she spend in his dear companionship?
Ah, those precious hours were fast slipping away; every moment spent away from his side was a great loss; she would go to him at once.
She started up, but dropped into her seat again; "mamma" was with him, and just now she would rather avoid her society.
Covering her face with her hands, she sat silently thinking,--going over again in imagination all that had passed between her father and herself during the last few weeks, recalling their conversations, especially every word he had addressed to her bearing upon her future; all his loving counsels; his exhortations to lean upon God in every time of trial and perplexity; to carry every sorrow, anxiety, and care to the Lord Jesus in unwavering confidence that there she would find never-failing sympathy, comfort, and help.
And now for the first time it struck her that thus he was trying to prepare her to do without him--the earthly parent who had been hitherto the confidant of all her childish griefs, perplexities, hopes, joys, and fears; and with the thought the conviction deepened that he was indeed passing away to that bourne whence no traveler returns.
Tears were stealing between the slender fingers, low, deep sobs shaking her slight frame, when a hand was gently laid upon her shoulder, and a sweet-toned voice asked in tender accents, "What is it, Evelyn, dear ?" "O Aunt Elsie," cried the little girl, lifting a tear-stained face, "you will tell me the truth! Is my dear papa--No, no, I can't say it! but oh, do you think we may hope he will soon be well again ?" "Dear child," Elsie said, in quivering tones, as she seated herself and, putting an arm about the little girl's waist, drew her close with a tender caress, "he is very ill, but 'while there is life there is hope,' for with God all things are possible." "Oh I know--I understand what that means!" cried Evelyn in anguished accents, "he is dying!--my dear, dear father!" "My poor child, my poor, dear child!" Elsie said, her tears falling fast, "I can feel for you, for it is not very long since I stood by the deathbed of a dear father.

Flesh and heart fail in such a trial; but look to Jesus for help and strength to endure, and he will sustain and comfort you, as he did me." "I can never, never bear it!" sobbed Evelyn, hiding her face on Elsie's shoulder.

"And papa--oh, how dreadful for him to have to go away all alone! I wish I could go with him." "That can not be, dear; but he will not go alone.

'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.' Jesus will be with him and he will need no one else." "Yes; I know, and I am glad for him; but oh, who will be with me when he is gone?
Mamma is seldom at home, and cares nothing for having me with her." "God will raise up friends and companions for you, dear, and if you seek the Lord Jesus, he will be to you a Friend indeed; One who sticketh closer than a brother or father, or any earthly creature; a Friend who will never die, never leave or forsake you." For some moments there was silence in the room, broken only by Evelyn's low sobs; but at length she spoke in trembling, tearful tones, "Will the angels come and carry him to heaven, Aunt Elsie, as they did the poor beggar, Lazarus, the Bible tells about ?" "Yes, dear, I believe they will," Elsie answered, tenderly smoothing the child's hair.

"And I think they will be full of joy for him, because he will be done with all the pains, the troubles and trials of earth, and going to be forever with the Lord.