CHAPTER XIII.

BRIGHT sunshine at length visited the hedgerows and mossy banks, adorning them with the wrinkled leaves and pale blossoms of the primrose, and the delicate flower of the graceful harebell, while here and there, in sheltered nooks, peeped forth violets blue and white, making their presence known, like that humility of which they are the emblem, only by the sweet fragrance which they cast around. The cuckoo was heard in the woods; the lark again rose above the green fields, singing as he soared; the honey-bee was once more on the wing; the butterfly had burst its dark winter shroud, and sported gladsomely in the bright sunny air; and pleasant sights and pleasant sounds were abroad in the earth. But Ada was not abroad to see or to hear them.

Paler, weaker, more wasted than ever, she still lay upon her silk couch, and Margaret still sat by her side, performing, with ever ready and gentle hand, each little office that she might require.

Mrs. Craven was not in the room so constantly as she had been at first, for she often went away to weep, to weep bitter and repining tears. for her to hide from herself the fact that Ada would die-yes, Ada, her pride, her darling, the child on whom she had built her strongest and brightest hopes. Worldly pleasures were nothing to her now; from the attempted consolations of her worldly friends she turned in disgust. But there was no resignation within her, no submission to the will of God; her heart knew no feeling but that of bitter repining grief. It was not hers to look upward, and with the eye of faith to behold the bright home already prepared for her child; it was not hers to say with believing trust, "I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me;" no, nothing was before her but the one terrible certainty

It was no longer possible

that she should lose Ada; the terrible words, "Ada will die," were ever sounding in her ears, and ringing their doleful knell in her heart.

As to Mr. Craven, he came to see Ada every evening when he returned home, and, if she were not asleep, every morning before he went to his daily engagements. He too, saw that she was dying, but he tried to drive the thought from his mind, resolved, if possible, not to believe so terrible a truth until it was actually forced upon

him.

But to Ada, the thought of death was no longer terrible. Not unheard had been Margaret's many earnest prayers, not unanswered the feeble and broken petitions which had risen from her own heart. Hard had been the struggle which the love of life and the dread of death had awakened within her. It was long ere a believing view of the Saviour brought a calm over the troubled waters of her soul; but at length it came, and led by his heavenly teaching (for save the simple instructions of Margaret she had no

other guide) she was at length enabled to rest sweetly on that gentle Saviour who loves to gather his lambs in his arms, and to carry them in his bosom.

It was only to Margaret that Ada could find courage to speak of these things; she often wished to do so to her father and mother, but could not. At length, one day, her mother came into the room when Margaret was reading to her; she had a new book in her hand.

"What is that you are reading to Ada, Margaret?" said she.

"The Pilgrim's Progress,' mamma," replied Margaret, "Ada asked me to read it."

"You should not read such dull books as that to her," replied Mrs. Craven. "See Ada, love," she continued, "Lady F- has been in to inquire after you, and has brought you this book full of funny pictures to make you laugh."

"Thank you, mamma,” said Ada, taking the book without opening it, "but I do not want to laugh now, it hurts me so, and I like to hear about Christian and his troubles

very much, it makes me forget the pain in my chest sometimes."

"You are a dear, patient, little angel," said her mother, fondly kissing her.

“No, mamma, I am not an angel, because angels are quite good," said Ada, " and I am not patient either, very often, mamma. wish you would read to me sometimes."

I

"Well, my darling, so I will whenever you like,” replied her mother; "shall I read to you now, one of these stories ? "

“No, mamma, not that; Margaret will tell you what. I will not hear any more about Christian now; will you find the place in the Bible about the beautiful city, and give it to mamma?”

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These were two of Ada's chapters; she could not understand the whole of them, but those parts which she did understand, she knew almost by heart, so often had Margaret read them to her. Margaret opened the Bible and gave it to her mother, and for the first time in her life Mrs. Craven's voice was employed in

*Rev. xxi. xxii.