the moment in her heart. She was so glad, so relieved and thankful, that
it took away her breath. She could not get over the wonder of it.

"To think one should look forward to it so long, and wonder, and be even
unhappy trying to divine what it will be--and this all!"

"Ah, but the angel was very gentle with you," said the young woman; "you
were so tender and worn, that he only smiled and took you sleeping. There
are other ways. But it is always wonderful to think it is over, as you
say."

The little Pilgrim could do nothing but talk of it, as one does after a
very great event. "Are you sure, quite sure, it is so?" she said. "It
would be dreadful to find it only a dream, to go to sleep again, and wake
up--there--" This thought troubled her for a moment. The vision of the
bedchamber came back; but this time she felt it was only a vision. "Were
you afraid too?" she said, in a low voice.

"I never thought of it at all," the beautiful stranger said; "I did not
think it would come to me. But I was very sorry for the others to whom it
came, and grudged that they should lose the beautiful earth, and life,
and all that was so sweet."

"My dear!" cried the Pilgrim, as if she had never died, "oh, but this is
far sweeter! And the heart is so light, and it is, happiness only to
breathe. Is it heaven here? It must be heaven."

"I do not know if it is heaven. We have so many things to learn. They
cannot tell you every thing at once," said the beautiful lady. "I have
seen some of the people I was sorry for, and when I told them, we