would have been a mockery; and observing
that the darkness had closed in, I
took my leave and departed, being
favoured with the services of my former
guide.

I expected to have been soon called
upon again to visit the poor girl; but
the Lodge lay beyond the boundary of my
parish, and I felt a reluctance to trespass
upon the precincts of my brother minister,
and a certain degree of hesitation in intruding
upon one whose situation was so
very peculiar, and who would, I had no
doubt, feel no scruple in requesting my
attendance if she desired it.

A month, however, passed away, and I
did not hear anything of Ellen. I called
at the Lodge, and to my inquiries they
answered that she was very much worse
in health, and that since the death of the
child she had been sinking fast, and so
weak that she had been chiefly confined
to her bed. I sent frequently to inquire,
and often called myself, and all that I
heard convinced me that she was rapidly
sinking into the grave.

Late one night I was summoned from