disease seem to have a marvellously refining effect on the countenance;
producing an ethereal clearness of skin, and brightness of eye, and a
spiritual expression, which are seen on no other faces. Rachel Barlow
was a striking instance of this almost abnormal beauty. As her fair
face looked up at you from her pillow, your impulse was to fall on your
knees. Not till she smiled did you feel sure she was human; but when she
smiled, the smile was so winningly warm, you forgot you had thought her
an angel. For two years she had not moved from her bed, except as she
was lifted in the strong arms of her father. For two years she had not
been free from pain for a moment. Often the pain was so severe that she
fainted. And yet her brow was placid, unmarked by a line, and her face
in repose as serene as a happy child's.

Doctor Eben and Hetty sat together by the bed.

"Rachel," said the doctor, "I have brought my wife to help cure you. She
is as good a doctor as I am." And he turned proudly to Hetty.

Rachel gazed at her earnestly, but did not speak. Hetty felt herself
singularly embarrassed by the gaze.

"I wish I could help you," she said; "but I think my husband will make
you well."

Rachel colored.

"I never permit myself to hope for it," she replied. "If I did, I should
be discontented at once."

"Why! are you contented as it is?" exclaimed Hetty impetuously.