and just now she would rather avoid her society.

Covering her face with her hands, she sat silently thinking,--going over
again in imagination all that had passed between her father and herself
during the last few weeks, recalling their conversations, especially
every word he had addressed to her bearing upon her future; all his
loving counsels; his exhortations to lean upon God in every time of trial
and perplexity; to carry every sorrow, anxiety, and care to the Lord
Jesus in unwavering confidence that there she would find never-failing
sympathy, comfort, and help.

And now for the first time it struck her that thus he was trying to
prepare her to do without him--the earthly parent who had been hitherto
the confidant of all her childish griefs, perplexities, hopes, joys, and
fears; and with the thought the conviction deepened that he was indeed
passing away to that bourne whence no traveler returns.

Tears were stealing between the slender fingers, low, deep sobs shaking
her slight frame, when a hand was gently laid upon her shoulder, and a
sweet-toned voice asked in tender accents, "What is it, Evelyn, dear?"

"O Aunt Elsie," cried the little girl, lifting a tear-stained face, "you
will tell me the truth! Is my dear papa--No, no, I can't say it! but oh,
do you think we may hope he will soon be well again?"

"Dear child," Elsie said, in quivering tones, as she seated herself and,
putting an arm about the little girl's waist, drew her close with a
tender caress, "he is very ill, but 'while there is life there is hope,'
for with God all things are possible."