Mrs. Stanhope was kneeling by the bedside, her face buried in the
coverlet. Emma laid her flowers upon the bed, and, with fast flowing
tears, looked upon the peaceful face, and remembered sadly that she had
not done a friendly act for the little invalid, nor helped to wile away
her lonely hours. She left the room sorry and ashamed, regretting her
selfishness, when it was too late to do any good.

A little while after, Mrs, Stein came softly into the quiet room. Mrs.
Stanhope raised her head, and, as she returned the kindly greeting, her
grief broke out, and she exclaimed with sobs:--

"Oh, if you knew how miserable I am! Why--ah, why! does God take from me
my only child? Fortune and lands, everything else he might have taken,
if he would only have left me my child! This is the very hardest fate
that could have befallen me! Why must I suffer more than any one else in
the world?"

"Dear Mrs. Stanhope," said the doctor's wife, as she took the poor
lady's hand and pressed it tenderly in her own; "I feel for your sorrow,
but I beg you to think of what your child has gained. God has taken her
to himself, and she is free from pain and weariness forevermore, in his
sheltering arms. You do not know what poverty means! Think of the many
mothers who only see their children grow up to hard labor, and suffer
for want of food and clothing. Take the sorrow that God has sent you; do
not try to measure it with that of others; the sorrow that comes to each
seems the heaviest for each to bear. But our Father knows why he has
given each row, and the road he leads us is the one best for us to
follow."

Mrs. Stanhope became more tranquil as these words fell on her ear, but