Elsie, darling," laying her pale thin hand on the bowed head, "you have been a dear, dear daughter to me, such a comfort, such a blessing! May the Lord reward you." Elsie had much ado to control her feelings.

Her father passed his arm about her waist and made her rest her head upon his shoulder.
"Mother, how are you now ?" asked Mr.Travilla, coming in and taking his place on his wife's other side, close by the bed of the dying one.
"All is peace, peace, the sweetest peace, I have nothing to do but to die, I am in the river, but the Lord upholdeth me with His hand, and I have almost reached the farther shore." She then asked for the babe, kissed and blessed it, and bade her son good-bye.
"Sing to me, children, the twenty-third psalm." Controlling their emotion by a strong effort, that they might minister to her comfort, they sang; the three voices blending in sweet harmony.
"Thank you," she said again, as the last strain died away.

"Hark! I hear sweeter, richer melody, the angels have come for me, Jesus is here.

Lord Jesus receive my spirit." There was an enraptured upward glance, an ecstatic smile, then the eyes closed and all was still; without a struggle or a groan the spirit had dropped its tenement of clay and sped away on its upward flight.
It was like a translation; a deep hush filled the room, while for a moment they seemed almost to see the "glory that dwelleth in Immanuel's land." They scarcely wept, their joy for her, the ransomed of the Lord, almost swallowing up their grief for themselves.
But soon Elsie began to tremble violently, shudder after shudder shaking her whole frame, and in sudden alarm her husband and father led her from the room.
"Oh.

Elsie, my darling, my precious wife!" cried Travilla, in a tone of agony, as they laid her upon a sofa in her boudoir, "are you ill?
are you in pain ?" "Give way, daughter, and let the tears come," said Mr.Dinsmore, tenderly bending over her and gently smoothing her hair; "it will do you good, bring relief to the overstrained nerves and full heart." Even as he spoke the barriers which for so many hours had been steadily, firmly resisting the grief and anguish swelling in her breast, suddenly gave way, and tears poured out like a flood.
Her husband knelt by her side and drew her head to a resting-place on his breast, while her father, with one of her hands in his, softly repeated text after text speaking of the bliss of the blessed dead.
She grew calmer.