"O, no! Don't tell me; tell it to God. He will pity and forgive you because you are really sorry."
"You would despise me if you knew how wicked I have been. It was seeing you, and thinking how good you are, which made me feel that I had done wrong."
"I'm sure, after all you have done for mother and for me, I can't help believing that you are an angel. I love you, and I know that you are good."
"I mean to be good, Jenny. From this time I shall try to do better than I ever did before."
"Then you will be, Fanny."
"I don't think I ever tried to be good, but I shall now," replied the penitent girl, as she wiped away her tears.
Jenny seemed to be weary, and Fanny sat by the bedside gazing in silence at her beautiful and tranquil expression. The sufferer was looking at the rich flowers of the bouquet, which had been placed on a stand at the side of the bed. They were a joy to her, a connecting link between the beautiful of heaven and the beautiful of earth.
"Will you sing me a hymn, Fanny?" asked the sick girl, without removing her gaze from the flowers.
Without any other reply to the question, Fanny immediately sang this verse:—
"If God hath made this world so fair,