There was a seraphic smile on the wan face of Jenny as the singer finished the first verse, and she clasped her thin white hands above her breast in the ecstasy of her bliss. Fanny sang the four verses of the hymn, and every moment of the time seemed to be a moment of rapture to the dying girl.
"How beautiful!" cried Jenny, after a period of silence at the conclusion of the hymn. "I have never been so happy, Fanny. Let me take your hand in mine again."
"Can I do anything more for you?" asked Fanny, as she gave her hand to the invalid.
"No, nothing. It will make you tired to sing any more now."
"O, no! I could sing all day."
"But the sweet strains you have just sung still linger in my soul. Let me hold your hand a moment, and then I will go to sleep if I can. I like to hold your hand—you are so good."
Fanny despised herself. She wanted to tell Jenny what a monster of wickedness she felt herself to be, and she would have done so if it had not been for giving pain to the gentle sufferer.
"I would like to go to heaven now, holding your hand, and mother's, and Eddy's; for it seems to me I could carry you up to the Saviour with me then, and give you all to him; and he would love you for my sake, and because you are so good. But I shall never forget you; I shall bear your name to heaven with me, Fanny."
The wicked girl shuddered. "Depart from me," seemed to be the only message the Saviour had for her.
"Let me do something more for you," said Fanny, who could not endure to be called good by one who was so near heaven that there could be no hypocrisy or shadow of deceit in her heart.