338 I GO A -FISHING. 



away may be imagined but can not be told. Years passed 

 and he did not come. Alone in the cottage, seldom vent- 

 uring beyond its walls, she dwelt in secret, growing every 

 day more pale, yet every day more beautiful. Four winters 

 had dashed their storms on the Atlantic coast, and a fifth 

 was passing, and Bessie was dying as she had prayed to die. 



" It was a wild December night, and there was danger 

 of a wreck on the coast, to which all the villagers had 

 gone. The guns had been heard booming all the day 

 previous, and they said she would go ashore on the half 

 flood, and be beyond the help of man. 



" In the house of Stephen Laton the mother and daugh- 

 ter were seated, as in many a winter night before, by the 

 great fire that blazed up the chimney, silent mostly, yet 

 once in a while lifting their eyes each to the other's coun- 

 tenance. There was a strange resemblance in the two 

 women, though one was old and haggard, and the other 

 young and beautiful. The likeness was doubtless in the 

 prevailing expression of woe that looked out of both their 

 eyes, as they gazed silently and steadfastly into the flash- 

 ing fire and listened to the roaring tempest. 



" ' Mother,' said Bessie, springing to her feet at length, 

 with a cry of anguish — 'Mother, pray God to let me die.' 



" ' Patience, Bessie, my child, patience.' 



" ' Patience, mother ! I have been patient four years — 

 I am patient — but I would to God I were lying out yon- 

 der in the old grave-yard, with all the old folk and young 

 folk of all the graves, instead of being here to-night !' 



" She was magnificent as she stood there, her long 

 white night-robe buttoned to her throat and flowing to 

 her feet, as she clasped her hands and looked up to heav- 

 en. Certainly she was very beautiful, with the beauty of 

 approaching death. 



