"Speak to her, Mr. Vane."

"Florence, my darling," the old man said, with inexpressible love and
tenderness sounding in his voice. His fair young daughter turned her
eyes on him; but the words she spoke were not of him, or of aught
around her. So clear and sweet they sounded, that Ester, sitting quite
across the room from her, heard them distinctly.

"I saw mother, and I saw my Savior."

Dr. Van Anden sank upon his knees, as the drooping lids closed again,
and his voice was low and tremulous:

"Father, into thy hands we commit this spirit. Thy will be done."

In a moment more all was bustle and confusion. The nurse was
thoroughly awakened; the doctor cared for the poor childless father
with the tenderness of a son; then came back to send John for help,
and to give directions concerning what was to be done.

Through it all Ester sat motionless, petrified with solemn
astonishment. Then the angel of death had _really_ been there in that
very room, and she had been "so wise in her own conceit," that she did
not know it until he had departed with the freed spirit!

Florence really _was_ sick, then--dangerously sick. The doctor had not
deceived them, had not magnified the trouble as she supposed; but it
could not be that she was dead! Dead! Why, only a few minutes ago she
was sleeping so quietly! Well, she was very quiet now. Could the heart