terrestrial objects, except when duty bade her fix her attention, for a little space, upon created things.

6

She regarded the babe with all a mother's affection. May it live before Thee, in a spiritual sense,' was the petition which, in the sincerity of her heart, she ardently sent up to Heaven, for the lovely little one that, to human appearance, was soon to be left motherless. Yet that benevolent Being, who 'seeth not as man seeth,' saw fit to remove this tender bud, to expand in a more genial clime, ere the chilling blasts of sorrow had passed over its fragile form. Sweet babe! it suffered little here, for gently was its frail tenement dissolved, after it had lived but a few days, and its deathless spirit forever set free from th thraldom of sin and woe.

But to return to Doctor Felton. He found the individual he sought, at his place of business, just preparing to go home, as it was near the hour at which he dined. The doctor took the hand of Mr. Dunbar in the most friendly manner, and said, 'My friend, my duty to you, as a man, and a Christian, requires me to be the bearer of painful tidings.'

'What tidings?' eagerly asked the other.

The doctor then, in the most feeling, and soul-moving manner, laid before this obdurate father the situation of Rebecca. Understanding the true character of the person he was addressing, he painted, in glowing colors, the misery that would be spared his dear family, if he would but go to that room of sickness, ere it would be too late, and bestow a father's forgiveness and benediction upon his dying child.

'Dying child!' repeated the old gentleman, faintly

sinking upon the seat he had left, just as the doctor entered his counting-room; it is true, then, that she is fatally sick, is it?' This he said, looking earnestly at the doctor.

It is,' replied the pitying gentleman.

No wonder, then,' said Mr. Dunbar, 'you thought it strange that you did not see me at any time in her chamber. I have felt vexed at the wilfulness of Rebecca, in marrying contrary to my wishes; but perhaps I have carried my resentment rather too far; yet I did not think she was so ill. Her mother has always been very tender of her, and I supposed she was over-anxious at this time.' Then looking earnestly at the doctor for a moment, he said, with much apparent emotion, I thank you, Doctor Felton, for the friendly interest you manifest in my family; I may have been wrong in appearing so stern to my poor child.'

'But you will not longer appear stern to her, will you?' asked the doctor, taking the old gentleman by the hand, and smiling affectionately as he addressed him.

'No, no,' replied the other, I must see her immediately. Doctor Felton then bade him good morning, and withdrew. Mr. Dunbar soon after started for home. On entering the dining-room, he found dinner in waiting, and sat down to the table in company with his wife. He ate but little, being absorbed in deep reflection. Mrs. Dunbar did not venture to interrupt the silence of the occasion, though her heart was full to overflowing, and she longed to tell her companion all her anxieties, but did not dare to do so.

Just as she was rising from the table, to her surprise,

Mr. Dunbar inquired respecting the state of Rebecca. Mrs. Dunbar was quite overcome with intense emotion, for a few minutes. She had hoped for a change like that she saw, yet had hoped but faintly, and was unprepared to hear him speak thus. As soon as she could command her voice so as to be able to speak, she told her husband that their daughter was failing very fast.

The proud feelings of the father were now struggling with parental affection. It was a severe conflict. Pride, for one moment, whispered, 'I cannot condescend to enter the chamber of Rebecca, until a special message is brought from her to me.' Then a better feeling would predomi nate, and he would resolve to go at once to her bedside.

Mrs. Dunbar saw the conflict of her husband's feelings, depicted in his countenance, and she trembled less selfishness should again be allowed to triumph over a feeling more ennobling to his heart than that of wounded pride. Approaching near to him she said, in a mild yet affecting tone of voice,' My dear husband, do go with me now to see your once dear daughter, lest you see her no more until her eyes are closed in death.'

'Once dear!' reiterated the sorrowful father, 'I love her now, and will go to her chamber this instant!'

Stop a little while,' said his wife; 'I must acquaint Rebecca with your intention, else she will be too much overcome at seeing you under such circumstances, as her weakness is very great.'

You are right,' responded the father; you must go and tell her that I desire an interview with her this afternoon.'

Mrs. Dunbar then left the room and ascended the

stairs. She entered the chamber of Rebecca with a feeling of excitement which she strove in vain to conceal a commingled feeling of joy and gratitude. As soon as Henry caught a glimpse of her countenance, he felt assured that she had something pleasant to communicate, and quickly asked if Doctor Felton had been a successful advocate of their cause.

6

I presume he has,' answered his mother, though I know not certainly that such is the fact, but I am greatly encouraged to hope that your father will yet be reconciled to Rebecca.'

As she said this, she perceived that the features of her daughter were illumined with a grateful smile. As she did not appear agitated, she then asked her if she thought she would be able to have an interview with her father, that evening, if he desired it.

6

6

Certainly I shall, dear mother,' replied the affectionate daughter; but do you think he will consent to see me to-day? O, tell me if he has spoken upon the subject of seeing me!'

Her mother was apprehensive that the excitement which Rebecca must experience, in seeing her father, would hasten the hour of her approaching dissolution; yet longed to have them meet. At length, she ventured to tell her daughter that her father would like to see her. Ask him, then,' said Rebecca; ask him to come soon!'

Her mother bade her be composed, and assured her that her wishes should be complied with; but,' continued the now self-possessed lady, 'Henry had better leave the room, and not be seen here at this time.'

'I think,' said Henry, 'it will be best for me to retire, as my presence may be unwelcome, even now.' He left the room, and Mrs. Dunbar went directly down to ask her husband to accompany her to the bedside of their languishing child.

Mr. Dunbar entered the apartment of his lovely daughter with a faltering step; and as he drew near the bed upon which she reposed, and saw her pallid features, a sudden faintness came over him, and he sunk into a chair that was standing near the bed. Rebecca extended her emaciated hand towards her father. He drew nearer, and grasped it almost convulsively, while emotion choked his utterance. A long pause ensued, before either of them could speak.

Rebecca broke the silence by saying, 'Father, you will, will be reconciled to me, will you not?'

you

'Yes,' responded the old gentleman-I love you, my child-I cannot, O, I cannot part with you thus!

Rebecca encircled his neck with her arms, and they both wept together. Mr. Dunbar, after a few moments, became more composed; and, as if suddenly recollecting that there was one absent who ought, at this interesting period, to be made welcome in this chamber, where were clustered so many motives for acting right, he said, Henry is not here, but he must not stay away, he must be sent for.'

'He shall be,' answered the mother of Rebecca; and immediately withdrew to send for him.

When the daughter heard this, to her, joyful determination of her father, thus kindly expressed, she regarded him with a grateful smile, that to him appeared ineffably