"I have come with Erwald," I said, "to see his sister. I am sorry to
find you so very ill."

"Almost home," she gasped.

"You do not feel that you are alone; there is One to walk with you?"

"Jesus, my Redeemer, my Comforter."

Erwald was kneeling by the bed, his eyes were full of tears, and his
hand trembled as he clasped the pale thin fingers.

"You will get well, Vesta, you will come to the old home once again,
mother expects you, and father." The words were gone. Sobs echoed
through the cottage.

"Tell mother, not an hour but I have thought of her. Tell her that I
am glad she loves Jesus; and father, ask him for my sake to read the
little Bible that I sent him. I would so like to see them, Erwald;
but it cannot be. For this, as well as for my husband and children, I
would live; but I go to Jesus. Live so as to meet me there."

There was no excitement, only a weary look stole over the face.
Leaving Erwald, I walked back to the inn. Though far away from home,
and surrounded by strange scenery and strange people, it was
delightful to find the same faith here as in my own home, the same
heaven inspired confidence in the Redeemer.

The next morning the sick woman was more comfortable. Erwald did not