For many weeks Dora had felt an undefined presentiment of coming
evil--had seen it in Ella's failing health--in the increased
tenderness of Mr. Hastings's manner, whenever he bent over the
pillow of his young wife, or bore her in his arms, as he sometimes
did, to the window, that she might look out upon, the garden, and
the winding walks which she would never tread again. And now Ella
herself had confirmed it--had spoken of death as something very
near.
"Oh, she must not die!" was Dora's mental cry of anguish, as
moving nearer to the bedside she grasped the little wasted hand
which lay outside the counterpane, and this was her only answer,
for she could not speak. There was a numbness at her heart, a
choking sensation in her throat, which prevented her utterance.
But Ella understood her, and returning the warm pressure, she
continued, "You, too, have seen it then, and know that I must die;
but oh! you do not know how I dread the lonesome darkness of the
grave, or the world which lies beyond. If somebody would go with
me, or teach me the way, it wouldn't be so hard.
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