"What!—that poor seamstress of whom you just spoke?" There was a look of unfeigned surprise in the lady's countenance.
"Yes; the poor seamstress, Anna May. Her days in this world are nearly numbered. I was to see her yesterday, and found her very low. She cannot long remain on this side the river of death. I am now on my way to her mother's house. Will you not go with me?"
"No, no," replied Mrs. Ellis, quickly, while a shadow fell over her face; "why should I go? I never took any particular interest in the girl. And as for dying, every thing in relation thereto is unpleasant to me. I can't bear to think of death: it makes me shudder all over."
"You have never looked in the face of death," said Mrs. Lee.
"And never wish to," replied Mrs. Ellis, feelingly. "Oh, if it wasn't for this terrible consummation, what a joyful thing life might be!"
"Anna May has looked death in the face; but does not find his aspect so appalling. She calls him a beautiful angel, who is about to take her by the hand, and lead her up gently and lovingly to her Father's house."
There came into the face of Mrs. Ellis a sudden look of wonder.
"Are you in earnest, Mrs. Bell?"
"Altogether in earnest."
"The mind of the girl is unbalanced."