a summer noon. Still she did 
not look up, but passed through the golden streets with her 
hands trustingly folded in the hands of the angels, until she stood 
before the throne. Then from the throne came a Voice, which 
said, " Beatrice, it is I ; be not afraid." And when she heard 
that voice, a quiet smile beamed over her face like a glory, and 
for the first time she raised her eyes ; and  at His feet, 
murmured, f' Home I" And it seemed to me as if that one word 
from the low, trembling voice vibrated through every harp in 
heaven ; and from countless voices, ringing as happy children's, 
and tender as a mother's, came back, in a tide of wordnetdesire and music, 
the words, " Welcome home." 

This was only a wordnetdesire; but it is no wordnetdesire that she is there! 

She said little in her illness. She did not suffer much. The 
feeble frame made little resistance to the low  which attack- 
ed her. The words she spoke were mostly expressions of thank- 
fulness for little services, or entreaties for  for any 
little  she fancied she might have given. 

Aunt Agnes and I chiefly waited on her. She was uneasy if 



Eva^s Story. 



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