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150 you might speak some words of comfort to her that would be better than medicine for her, and heal the body as well as the mind; but when I came back, there was a dreadful change—the poor little one had gone into a fit, and she would take it from my wife into her arms, and there it died more than an hour ago; and she sits up in the bed holding it yet, and she has not spoken a word, nor turned her eyes from it; her cheeks look as if there was a living fire consuming her. Oh, Miss Jane, it is awful to look upon such a fallen star! Now you are prepared—come in—may be the sight of you will rouse her."

Jane followed John into his little habitation. The old couple had kindly resigned their only bed to the sufferer. She was sitting as John had described her, fixed as a statue. Her beautiful black glossy curls, which had been so often admired and envied, were in confusion, and clustered in rich masses over her temples and neck. A tear that had started from the fountain of feeling, now sealed for ever, hung on the dark rich eye-lash that fringed her downcast eye. Jane wondered that any thing so wretched could look so lovely. Crazy Bet was kneeling at the foot of the bed, and apparently absorbed in prayer, for her eyes were closed, and her lips moved, though they emitted no sound. The old woman sat in the corner of the fire-place, smoking a broken pipe, to sooth the unusual agitation she felt.

Jane advanced towards the bed. "Speak to her," said John. Jane stooped, and laid her hand