At last she was told that Helen wanted her; but she was charged to be
careful, as the poor girl was extremely weak.

"Dora, Dora," said Helen, "_you_ will tell me the truth. Mother said
that I should not be deceived; but I have been, O, I have been cruelly
deceived."

Dora talked soothingly of Him who is the resurrection and the life: but
the poor girl had opened her eyes all too suddenly upon the startling
picture of death; and now shrinking from his cold embrace, she could
not hear of hope and comfort. Her dying words were to the mother
fraught with keenest anguish, for she spoke of this cruel deceit unto
the last. Amanda soon followed her young sister to the tomb; but the
mother was spared the self-accusation and bitter sorrow attendant upon
Helen's death. Early in her sickness Amanda was consigned to the care
of Dora. It was in vain that the physician expostulated; Mrs. Lindsay
feared nothing so much as again to hear words of reproof from a dying
child for having deceived her. Dora kept her post with Christian
fidelity, and Amanda entered the dark valley and shadow of death
fearing no evil.

Emma was at that time five years of age, and Martha ten. "My dear
madam," said Dora, "fashion has robbed you of a great treasure. Your
daughters, predisposed to consumption, cannot safely obey its whimsical
demands."

"Nonsense, Dora!" replied Mrs. Lindsay. But when alone, she thought
seriously upon what the good woman had said. Memory brought before her
mind pictures from which she could not turn. The thin-soled shoes, and
silken hose, in which fashion had required her delicate daughters to