and intelligence returned, and weak as an infant she opened wondering eyes on her bedside watchers.

"Matthew," she whispered, faintly, and Matthew's hand clasped hers, and his manly head sank down on her pillow in a flood of thankful tears.

"Dear Jane; you forgive me, say you forgive me all."

"I forgive! Oh, Matthew! Let me get up, I want to get to work. Where are the children?"

"Josy, come here, your mother will know you now."

Josy timidly drew near, and Jane stroked his head, and bade him kiss her. He obeyed, but there was no heartiness in the kiss; and then she asked for Daisy.

"Daisy is not strong enough yet," said Matthew; and there was something in the tone that made Jane try to see his face.

"And baby-I suppose they told you," said she, with a great effort, "that baby was teething, and-and-"

"And you thought she had a fit," said Matthew.

"Yes, I heard it; poor baby! But she is better off; it's no use to grieve for her."

And Matthew rose rather hastily, and went to look again at his little girl.

'Daddy, will you walk me about now?" asked the little one; and, wrapping a small blanket round her, the father took her tenderly in his arms, and resting her head on his shoulder, walked up and down the little room for some time, thinking, and then asking for willingness to surrender this other treasure, that was fading away so gently before his eyes.

Yes, little Daisy was marked for a better world; a rude hand, and that hand her mother's, had struck the blow that began to crush the young life from its slender stem. Daisy had wanted love, and kindness, and care, and nourishment,

just when she did not have them, and now she was going where no need is unsupplied.

Josy came and stood looking at them, and listening to words that at once appalled and fascinated him. "Daisy going to heaven, Daddy come too," softly said the little child, stroking her father's face; "don't cry, kind Mrs. Field told all about it. Jesus is there; and He wanted baby, and now He wants Daisy. Daisy so tired." And the little head drooped wearily, and the poor father's heart felt bursting, and Josy sobbed outright.

"Kiss me, brother," said the little one, suddenly," and you come to heaven too."

She did not ask for her mother, and Matthew feared the excitement for both if he took her into the room.

The good widow who had been found able and willing, for small payment, to come and "do" for the family, with Ellen Field's frequent loving attention, kept all straight, and provided everything that could tempt appetite and strengthen the little flower; but all in vain. In a few days more she passed away in her father's arms to the place where, safe from rough winds and stormy skies,

"Beyond the smiling and the weeping,
Beyond the waking and the sleeping,
Beyond the sowing and the reaping,"

she found the blessed atmosphere of,

"Love, rest, and home."

150

CHAPTER XXIII.

SHIPWRECKED.

AD he been aware how suddenly at last his darling was to be removed to "the better land," Mr. Hill would have risked even Jane's precarious state, that she might see her child again; but the fear of a relapse before she was able to bear the sight of the wasted little form made him conceal the truth, only replying, when she inquired, that Daisy was still very ill, and must be kept quiet as possible until Jane should be able to nurse and tend her herself.

But Jane had not deserved a mother's privilege, she had no right to complain now that other hands ministered to the little sick one, that another bosom supported the drooping head, and other voices whispered the baby's hymns, and taught of the loving Saviour who was calling His lamb to the eternal fold. But she became impatient and jealous beyond endurance, and resolved on the first opportunity to assert her right and take her place.

There was a bright, pleasant morning on which Mrs. Field came and sat by her bedside earlier than usual, and persevered in keeping the room-door shut. Jane had slept late, and declared that she felt greatly better, and would no longer be waited on and kept useless in her own house.

Suddenly Mrs. Field was called downstairs; something was wanted that she only could find or do, and she left the room, carefully shutting the door behind her.

She had not been gone many minutes when it struck Mrs.

Hill that she would fasten her out, dress herself, and astonish them all.

So she crept from her bed, astonishing herself first with the giddy sensation in her head and the consciousness of extreme weakness; but she managed to reach the window, and looked out once more into the street..

Startled and amazed, she stared wildly down upon what was to be seen at that moment. Matthew Hill and Benjamin Field were passing from the house, both dressed in black hatbands tied with white, and bearing between them a small coffin covered with a black pall bordered with white. Some flowers lay on the top, and little Josy, also in a suit of black, followed them, beside himself with a strange mixture of surprise, sorrow, and excitement.

Conscience and

Jane comprehended it all in a moment. right feeling would have soon justified the concealment that had been, as her kind friend thought, unavoidable. She did not faint or cry out, resentment was the strongest feeling in her heart, and seemed to strengthen her for anything. She fastened the door, took no notice of Mrs. Field's gentle knock, and hurried on some clothes, shivering and tottering as she did so, and in spite of herself compelled to see a large card which hung over the looking-glass, exhibiting one of Matthew's favourite texts, and which she guessed truly was intended for her, when she should so sadly need it. "Cast thy burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain thee."

Yes, Jane knew that text as well as any of them, but she was not going to do anything of the kind. Neither would she bear it herself, she would get rid of it somehow.

She wanted a shawl and bonnet, and remembered that her large comfortable shawl was-where it ought not to be; and she mechanically opened the drawer where it used to lie. But to her astonishment there lay the shawl neatly folded.

"How did they get hold of the ticket?" thought she; and notwithstanding her anger, she felt for a moment with what tender forbearance and persevering kindness she had been treated; but pride and jealousy returned with the thought of her child nursed by someone else, and carried out of her house without her knowledge. No, she could never forgive that. And as for Matthew, if he had not gone away such things never would have happened, and all the troubles ought to lie at his door at last.

Thus fortified she stole cautiously downstairs and slipped out unobserved, while Mrs. Field was busy with some household work at the back of the house.

She was not long away, and returning to her room lay down upon the bed again, maintaining obstinate silence when poor Ellen, greatly troubled and blaming herself for carelessness, found that she had at least attempted to go out.

But Jane had accomplished her purpose, and very soon a mysterious change for the worse was plainly visible in her. She listened with stupid indifference to her husband when he endeavoured affectionately to relate to her all that had occurred to himself during his long absence, which he scrupled not to call most wicked and cruel; described Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, and their happy home, and asked her to help him to make one like it; and when he ventured to ask if he might read a chapter in the Bible to her, she only said,—

"I know all that's in the Bible, and I know there's no heaven for drunkards."

Matthew could not tell whether it was with reference to herself or to him that she said this, but decided to take it to himself.

"I have wanted to show you by actions and not by words, dear Jane, that I am, by God's great mercy, a drunkard no more," said he, gently.