I heard that this poor young woman was about to become a mother. I knew she
was alone in the world, and I knew my duty too. I went to her, and I thank
Him who inclined me to seek this wandering lamb of his fold, and to be (it
may be) the means of leading her back to His loving care and protection. I
often saw her during the last few weeks of her life, and she was usually
alone; Aunt Lucy, her mother's servant, and her own nurse when an infant,
being the only other occupant of her small cottage.

"Speaking of her, brings back, vividly as if it happened yesterday, the
scene with which her young life closed. Lucy sent for me, as I had charged
her, but the messenger delayed, and in consequence, Ellen had been some
hours sick when I arrived. Oh! how lovely her face appears to my memory, as
I recall her. She was in no pain at the moment I entered; her head was
supported by pillows, and her brown hair fell over them and over her neck.
Her eyes were bright as an angel's, her cheeks flushed to a crimson color,
and her white, beautiful hand grasped a cane which Dr. Lawton had just
placed there, hoping to relieve some of her symptoms by bleeding. Lucy
stood by, full of anxiety and affection, for this faithful servant loved
her as she loved her own life. My heart reproached me for my unintentional
neglect, but I was in a moment by her side, supporting her head upon my
breast.

"It is like a dream, that long night of agony. The patience of Ellen, the
kindness of her physician, and the devotion of her old nurse--I thought
that only a wife could have endured as she did.

"Before this, Ellen had told me her wishes as regards her child, persuaded
that, if it should live, she should not survive its birth to take care of
it. She entreated me to befriend it in the helpless time of infancy, and
then to appeal to its father in its behalf. I promised her to do so, always