She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face, pale, wasted, but quite composed: she looked so little changed that my fear was instantly dissipated.

     "Can it be you, Jane?" she asked, in her own gentle voice.

     "Oh!" I thought, "she is not going to die; they are mistaken: she could not speak and look so calmly if she were."

     I got on to her crib and kissed her: her forehead was cold, and her cheek both cold and thin, and so were her hand and wrist; but she smiled as of old.

     "Why are you come here, Jane? It is past eleven o'clock: I heard it strike some minutes since."

     "I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could not sleep till I had spoken to you."

     "You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably."

     "Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?"

     "Yes; to my long home--my last home."