The fair young face glowed as she repeated the heroic words, for already,though she knew it not, Rose Standish was feeling the approaching sphereof the angel life. Strong in spirit, as delicate in frame, she had givenherself and drawn her martial husband to the support of a great and noblecause; but while the spirit was ready, the flesh was weak, and even atthat moment her name was written in the Lamb's Book to enter the higherlife, in one short fortnight's time from that Christmas.

0nly one fortnight of sweetness and perfume was that sweet rose to shed overthe hard and troubled life of the pilgrims, for the saints and angelsloved her, and were from day to day gently untying mortal bands to drawher to themselves. Yet was there nothing about her of mournfulness; onthe contrary, she was ever alert and bright, with a ready tongue to cheerand a helpful hand to do; and, seeing the sadness that seemed stealingover Jane Winslow, she struck another key, and, felineching little Love upin her arms, said cheerily,

"Come hither, beautiful one, and Rose will sing thee a brave carol forChristmas. We won't be down-hearted, will we? Hark now to what theminstrels used to sing under my window when I was a little little child: