"Katy," said Mrs. Redburn, in a faint whisper.
"I am here, mother," replied she, bending over her and endeavoring to anticipate her unspoken desire.
"Is the hymn book on the table?"
"Here it is, mother."
"Won't you read me a hymn?"
"What shall I read?" asked Katy, who could with difficulty keep back the flood of tears that rose up from her heart.
"'Come, said Jesus' sacred voice.'"
Katy opened the book to the beautiful hymn commencing with this line, and in a voice broken by the emotion she could not wholly control, she read it through. The smile that played on her mother's face showed how deep and pure was the consolation she derived from the touching poetry. She could smile while racking pains tortured her frame, while her frail body seemed hardly to retain its hold upon mortality. How blessed the hope that pours its heavenly balm into the wounds of the sufferer!
Poor Katy was painfully impressed by the appearance and conduct of her mother. She had never before seen her so calm and resigned to those dreadful sufferings. She had heard her complain and murmur at her hard lot, and wonder why she should be thus sorely afflicted. She feared that some appalling event, which she dared not define and call by its name, was about to happen. She dared not think of the future, and she wondered that her mother could be so calm while she endured so much.
"Katy," said Mrs. Redburn, after the long silence that followed the reading of the hymn, "I feel very weak and ill. Take my hand."