no more. A violent paroxysm of coughing overcame her, and left her almost powerless. When somewhat recovered, she took her father's hand, and lay gazing at him with a smile of perfect peace, of highest joy,-it almost seemed like a smile of heaven,-there was not the shadow of a cloud to darken it.

Peaceful, and holy, and joyful, were the three days that followed that. Salome's sun was truly setting, but the cloud that had overshadowed it had passed away, and each moment, its beams appeared more golden, more resplendent.

It was on the evening of the first Friday in March, that Salome was able to sit for a short while in an easy chair near the fire. Her little girl stood beside her, whilst she and her father talked of the arrangements made for Adah to remain, according to the kind plan of Miss Alleyne.

"I have no thought now for the future. In God has been my confidence, and He hath not failed. It is Friday night, is it not, father?"

"Yes, my daughter."

"And God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it. And Jesus' holy body and soul rested the seventh day, according to the commandment; and there remaineth for us a Sabbath-keeping. Methinks, dear father, that whilst the first day is now the holy day, the day of joy and thanksgiving, the day of resurrection, still the Sabbath has not lost its blessedness-nay, it is rather increased; for not only does it commemorate creation's work completed, but redemption's likewise; it is alike the Creator's and the

Redeemer's day of rest.

Do you not think so, Ethie?"

she said, turning to her friend.

"Yes, dearest, I quite agree with you. We may liken it to a star that shone with double glory, just before it was lost in the brighter dawn of day."

"Oh! yes, and it is a blessed thought, that our seventh day of rest shall be followed by the resurrection light of the first day of the unrevealed glories of a new week." She stopped suddenly. "Ethie, I feel very faint. Perhaps my Sabbath dawns

In

Ethelda hastened to support her friend, who had turned pale as marble. She laid her on the couch and endeavoured to restore her. For a quarter of an hour she breathed. a broken whisper she was heard to say, "I trust in Jesus," and then she laid down her pilgrim-staff, the ascent being gained, the warfare accomplished.

When the believer dies, the six days' work which the Spirit hath wrought is beheld very good. Then, sanctification perfected, he enters on that Sabbath-keeping which yet remaineth for the people of God.

CHAPTER XXIII.

REUNION.

"Brother, thou art gone before us,

And thy ransom'd soul is flown,
Where tears are wiped from ev'ry eyo,

And sorrow is unknown;

From the burden of the flesh,

And from care and fear released,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest."-MILMAN.

NATURE looked glad on the day on which Salome was buried. It was a bright and spring-like day, the sky was blue, and the air was warm, and the woods round Alleyne resounded with the notes of countless songsters—life and joy seemed written on everything, but in that narrow coffin there was death. The eyes there were closed; the hands there were still; the mother's fondness, the daughter's devotion-all-all had passed away! The aged father stood beside that coffin, and gazed long upon those marble features. It was the last look, and then he turned away, and the undertaker fastened down the coffin-lid, and soon all were ready to convey those sacred remains to their long, long home. The father's head was bowed, but his was no longer

a hopeless sorrow. He had learnt of Him, who is the Resurrection and the Life, and he trusted Him with his beloved one. "Yet a little while," he said, "and I shall go to thee. Yet a little while, and where Jesus is, there shall we also be. Salome, my Salome! thy mission has been fulfilled, and now in the heavenly glory thou appearest before thy God." The old man and the little Adah followed to the grave as chief mourners. The little one cried bitterly, and yet she seemed to feel that she must comfort her mourning grandfather, and she kissed again and again the hand she so tightly held. Rabbi Moses felt that the place where his child was laid was very dear to him. He was too much enfeebled, too much unnerved, to return to London, and he had made arrangements to remain, during the few days that were left unto him, at the vicarage, under the roof of the excellent Mr. Graham. Ethelda had begged that Adah might stay at Alleyne, and when the aged man heard that she really desired a companion for little Harry, he gladly assented. "I love the boy almost as my own son," he said; "and I like to believe that my Salome's child is brought up with him. How does God's mercy exceed all that I could ask or think!"

The old man lingered for some time beside Salome's new-made grave, and Rowland stood by him, to support his tottering frame. "Where she is buried, there would I be buried; and when we are laid side by side, let a small stone tomb be placed over us, and these words engraven there: 'Jesus said, I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.'”

He returned to spend his last night at Alleyne. The next morning he was to go to the vicarage, and to be, on that day, baptized. All was quiet at the mansion when he returned; it seemed as if a daughter of the family, a loved member of the household, was gone.

Adah had gently found her way into her grandfather's room, and little Harry had followed.

"My Adah will never forget her mother?" said the old man, as the children stood beside his knee.

"No, dear grandfather, never.”

"I wish people never died," said Harry, half inclined to cry; "or, at least, that we could all die together: that would be nice."

"Would you not be afraid to die?

"Oh, no! You know how bright heaven is. But I don't like other people dying;-I was so frightened when Aunt Ethie was nearly killed, only I knew then that God would make her well-and He did."

"And why didn't God make my mamma well?" said Adah.

"I don't know," answered Harry. "God can't be cruel, you know, can He, grandfather?”

No, my son: God wished Adah's mother to be in heaven, and she is happy now with Jesus."

"Grandpapa," inquired the little boy, "don't you think that you will very soon be going to heaven too, and see Adah's mamma? "

"I trust so, my son.

What makes you

think so?"