The end came at last, suddenly, though long looked for. The messenger was not unwelcome. He was greeted with a smile so sweet, so rapt, that all gazed in wonder. Calmly the dying girl put her hand in his, while Marion in a clear voice repeated the inspired words, "'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.'"
[CHAPTER VI.]
THE MUSIC TEACHER.
THE triumphant death of the eldest daughter was followed by marked religious improvement in the family. Both Mr. and Mrs. Asbury publicly confessed their faith in Christ. The family altar was erected with this inscription, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."
Marion, too, received a new impetus in her chosen work,—the work of a soul-winner.
"I want to be a missionary," was her reply to her uncle, when he was urging her to remain permanently in his family. "I have already begun to make many projects for the poor in New York City."
"But, Marion, you are too young, too attractive, to go alone among the poor."
"Don't say too attractive, uncle. I want to be as attractive as possible. Understand me," she added, laughing, with a visible heightening of color, "I want to be loved and trusted; and I thank God that I am—am not repulsive in appearance. Too young I certainly am to go alone; and that is why I have kept dear old Hepsey. Aunty thinks me obstinate, incorrigible, because I don't dismiss the poor old creature, as she calls her, and have a fashionable French maid. Dear aunty! I'm afraid she would think me a fit subject for the lunatic asylum if she knew where Hepsey and I go."
"I'm afraid, Marion, that I shall have to agree with Mrs. Williamson that you are a little wilful. Put yourself in my place, and ask yourself whether it would be right for me to consent to your going into those infected regions in New York. You might catch small-pox, or cholera, or something dreadful."
She caught his arm, and gave it a loving squeeze, then with an arch glance in his face, exclaimed, "You ought to praise me for telling you all this. I have never told Uncle nor Aunt Williamson. But seriously, uncle, I haven't a particle of fear. The sanitary arrangements in a city like New York are excellent. I love life too well, and I have too great a work in it to put myself in danger. Besides, I have the earnest approval of dear Helen. I talked with her more freely than I ever did with any one, and she, standing on the border land between this life and the next, with Heaven's own light on her, said,—