"You are crying for me," she says, with an earnest penitence and regret. "I was cruel and ungrateful to talk of leaving you. Can you forgive me?"
"You are sorry; you will stay!" the sick woman murmurs, with piteous eagerness.
"Yes, as long as you live, I will never leave you nor forsake you," Reine murmurs, with all the solemnity of a vow, thinking sadly to herself that this is the only heart left on earth to which she is near and dear.
"God bless you, you shall be like my own child, Reine. And it may not be for long," Mrs. Odell sighs. "I am afraid—afraid, dear, that I shall never see my native land again."
"We will hope for the best," the girl answers, gently, "and if—if it should be as you fear, you will not forget that Heaven is as near to Italy as to our native land."
Heaven! to these two who have lost the treasure of life, that word is sweet and potent.
Drawn nearer together by the waves of sorrow that have gone over their heads, they cling together in the falling twilight, and talk softly of
"A land whose light is never dimmed with shade,
Whose fields are ever vernal;
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,
But blooms for aye eternal."