The next morning Violet waited with some impatience for the time to arrive at which Madam Adler had promised to come and help her to write her letter. She made Evelina put her desk upon the bed, and her mother's Bible; and she had on a snowy clean pinafore and a fresh purple bow tying up her hair.

Evelina looked very white this morning, and often when the child spoke to her she did not answer her. She went in and out of the room perpetually, and once or twice Violet heard her chattering in the street below in a low, excited voice; and when she did return, she did not look at Violet at all, but walked to the window and stared across at the house opposite.

"Is Madam Adler coming?" asked Violet a little wearily, as for the twentieth time she pushed the desk to one side, for the weight of it on the counterpane tired her so. "I heard the clock strike twelve ages ago."

"I do not see her coming," replied Evelina evasively.

"Is Fritz at the window?"

"No."

"Or Ella?"

"No."

"Couldst thou not go across and see if she will soon be here? Do, Evelina, please."

Evelina turned slowly away from the window and went downstairs, while the little girl once more drew the desk near her, and, opening it, took out a sheet of paper and a pen.

But Evelina did not return for a long time, and Violet's head ached so much she had to lie back on her pillows. So the weary minutes dragged on, and there was no sound of any one coming. She drew out her watch and looked at it. It wanted but a quarter to one, and then it would be dinner-time, and the letter would surely be late for the post.

How fast the watch ticked, and yet how slowly the hands moved on. Her heart too was beating so loud and so fast she felt as if she were a part of the watch, and it made her more restless and impatient. So she put it back under her pillow and tried to lie quite still.

It was such a hot morning, and the sun was beating straight in on her bed. "If only Evelina would come back and draw down the blind," she murmured, for it was useless now to think of writing a letter before dinner-time.

There were ducks quacking somewhere down in the street, too, and making such a noise. When Evelina returned she must ask her to shut the window; and perhaps if she fell asleep for a few minutes her head would cease aching, and the sun would have moved away from her bed. All at once, just as she had pushed her desk quite away and lain down with her back to the window, she heard Fritz's voice raised quite loud and high in the room on the opposite side of the street; he was evidently calling out to some one in a tone of entreaty and dismay.

Violet with a sudden eagerness struggled upwards in her bed and listened.

"Mother, mother, look up! thou must look up! Father is not dead! father is not dead! Speak to Fritz!"

"What is it?" murmured Violet to herself with a sudden catch at her breath; "what is Fritz saying?—Oh! here is some one coming." For there was a sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then a low knock at the door.

It was the doctor. Violet recognized his kind good face with a start of joy, and stretched out her little white hands lovingly.

"So," he cried, looking first at her and then with surprise round the room. "How is this?—quite alone, little one?"

"Yes, Evelina is gone out; she went across to call Madam Adler to come to me again."

"So," said the doctor again, his face growing somewhat graver as he looked earnestly at her. "I do not think that Madam Adler can come to see thee this morning. But first I must tell thee some good news: I have just heard that thy father is quite well."

"Yes?" said Violet questioningly. "I also had a letter from my father;" and she held up an envelope which she had kept tightly pressed until now in her left hand.

"But mine was not a letter; it was a telegram."

"A telegram?" she repeated, puzzled and distressed.

"Yes, dearest child," said the doctor, taking her hand in his and half turning aside his head. "Thank God thy father is safe and well. I have made that sure for thee. But there has been a battle—a great battle; and our regiment was given the honour of being placed in the front; and some, of course, have been wounded; and some will never suffer any more; and some are safe, and thy father is amongst those whom God has spared."

"My father!" cried Violet excitedly; "he has been in a battle, and he did not tell me so in his letter; and—and he is safe!"

"Yes. He could not have told thee in his letter. The battle was fought yesterday, and the news only came in last night."

"And is any one hurt?" she cried, clasping the doctor's hand with her burning fingers. "Is Fritz's father safe?"

"I am afraid he has been very seriously hurt," he replied.

"He is not dead?" gasped Violet.

"No, no; not dead. But it is uncertain whether he can recover."

"Poor, poor Fritz! that is why he cried so loud this morning. I heard him in my bed here calling to his mother."

"Just so. Madam Adler is in terrible distress; and Fritz, like a brave boy, is doing all he can to comfort her; and when Fritz comes to see thee thou must be brave also, my Violet, and try to comfort him."

"Yes," she replied, nodding her head in assent, for words were growing difficult to speak, and large tears were rolling down her face. "I never thought of battles," she said pleadingly, as if in excuse for her tears.

"So much the better," said the doctor, pressing the little hot hand in his. "It is much pleasanter to think of peace."

"And soon there will be peace," she said, lifting up her dark, pitiful eyes to his face, heavy with tears.

"Yes, soon there will be peace," he replied, looking at her with a strange, long earnestness.

"And then I shall see father," she added softly, while through the troubled darkness of her eyes there came a slow sweet smile.

At this moment Evelina came into the room; and the doctor hearing her enter, rose up to take his leave.

"Do not leave the child again to-day alone," he said in an undertone as he walked on towards the window where Evelina stood; "and watch her carefully. People may come in and tell her things which may excite and pain her, and her little thread of life will not bear it. We must try to keep it going for a little longer. She is very weak this morning, and seems excited and restless."

"It is all about a letter to her father which she wishes Madam Adler to write for her; and now the thing is impossible."

"Why cannot you write it for her, eh?"

"She will not have me to do it; no, not on any account," replied Evelina somewhat pettishly.

"Humph!" The doctor gazed out of the window for a moment, and then turning to her he said quickly,—

"You are very good to the child—careful, gentle, patient? These things are an absolute necessity."

"I do all I can to please her," said Evelina, blushing hotly under the doctor's earnest gaze. "But sick children are full of fancies."

"It is a privilege to nurse such a child. Had I not my own hands full of work, and the sick and the dying to think of, I should come and sit here day and night to watch by her and comfort her.—Eh, little one," he said, turning suddenly round and moving again towards the bed, "shall I come to-morrow morning early and write that letter for thee to thy father?"

"Oh, wilt thou?" cried Violet with a sudden access of unmeasured delight as she stretched out her arms gratefully. "That will be too lovely;—and thou canst tell him everything, and that Violet is quite well, and so—so—"

"Happy," suggested the doctor.

"Yes." (A faint blush.) "Yes, so happy waiting for him to come home." The blush deepened as the truthful heart sought about to extricate itself.

"I understand," he said, taking both the little hands in his. "So happy when thou thinkest of father coming home, but often a little lonely and a little tired of waiting; and often the head aches, and one cannot be very happy when one's head is aching, can one?"

"Yes, that is it," replied Violet. "But I was not thinking of headaches, only sometimes—I am too tired; and then—" (she glanced towards Evelina nervously), "and then I am sorry if—"

"Exactly; so am I," cried the doctor laughing. "When I am too tired I feel as if I must take a stick and beat some one; and I am sure Evelina must be black and blue with all the bruises thou givest her. I should not at all like to receive a blow from this powerful wrist." The doctor stooped as he spoke and kissed the little hand he held in his. Violet laughed, and the rain of repentant tears was averted.

When the doctor left the room Evelina came and sat by Violet's bed. She drew her chair quite close, and speaking very gently to her she lifted the heavy desk off the counterpane and put it aside on the long walnut-wood chest, which, standing close to the bed, served as a kind of table.

"What a kind old fellow that doctor seems," she said presently. "He appears to be a great friend of thine."

"Yes," replied Violet softly; "father's friend and mother's, and now mine."

"Ah, so. And he has known thee all thy life?"

"Yes, all my life."

"And hast thou been sick always?"

"Yes, always." Violet sighed a little and moved somewhat restlessly on her pillow.

"And thy mother,—canst thou remember her?"

"Oh yes, quite well. She has not left me so very long. She slept there in that very room. She was too beautiful. All day long she sat with me, and I was always happy."

"And thy father—what is he like?"

"My father? Hast thou not seen him? He is, oh, so tall—almost up to the ceiling. He is the—but thou wilt see him for thyself, and then thou wilt know how splendid he is, and how good. When the war is over he will come home ever so fast to Violet."

"Without doubt," replied Evelina cheerfully. "And is he dark, or fair?"

"Quite dark."

"And thy mother—was she dark also?"

"Oh no. My mother, she is quite, quite fair. She has yellow hair. I will show thee some of it." Violet put out her hand and drew over her mother's Bible, which lay on the counterpane. She touched it so reverently, and opened it with such a nervous thrill, that Evelina watched her movements with a growing interest.

Between the fly-leaves of the book there was a small package folded up in silver paper. The child opened this with nervous, trembling fingers, and revealed a lock of soft golden hair tied up with a black ribbon.

"And that is thy mother's hair? How fine and soft and golden it is! Why, it is almost the very same colour as mine. Let us see."

Evelina stretched out her hand to take it, but Violet drew back the book quickly; and then, blushing painfully at her own rudeness, shut up the little packet and closed the cover of the Bible.

"Ah, there is a page of thy book coming out now," cried Evelina, taking no apparent notice of her distress, and pointing to a loose leaf which stretched some distance beyond the cover.

"No, it is not possible!" She lifted up the book with a gesture of horror, but soon recovering herself said quickly,—"Ah, see, it is not out of the Bible. It is only the picture of the poor little hunchback. It fell out of its own cover, so I put it in here."

"A picture of what?" asked Evelina, looking curiously at the loose leaf which Violet had drawn from its resting-place.

"It is only a fairy tale," said Violet somewhat sadly as she placed the old faded print in Evelina's extended hand.

"How comical!" cried Evelina laughing. "The child has a face like an old man; but then all hunchbacks have got that kind of dried-up, wizened expression."

Violet bent her head low down over her mother's Bible to hide the sudden vivid colour which flooded all her face; but presently lifting up her head and seeing that Evelina was still staring curiously at the picture, she said very softly, almost in a whisper,—

"Thou knowest, dost thou not, that I am a little hunchback?"

"Oh, what folly!" (It was now Evelina's turn to grow confused and absolutely awkward.) "Why, thou little vain monkey, thou art fishing for compliments. It is useless for me to tell thee what thou art. Thou knowest well enough—'the sweet Violet of Edelsheim, the flower of all the town.'"

No responsive smile lit up Violet's face at this sudden outburst of flattery. She only added, as if following out her own thoughts,—

"Fritz knows I am a hunchback, but he does not believe about the wings."

"What about the wings?"

"Dost thou not see in the picture there, low down on the page, where it is written, 'No more tears'? for dost thou not see God gave the little hunchback wings, and she flew quite away with the angels up, up to heaven."

"Oh, yes, of course," cried Evelina. "I have read the story in another book, only it was about a boy. He had, oh, such a dreadful hump on his back, so ugly, people could not bear to look at him; or if they did they made faces at him and pointed their fingers at him, and even his own mother was ashamed. But all the time there were beautiful golden wings folded up inside his hump; and one day when—when—;" Evelina hesitated a little and pinched up the frilling of her cuff nervously.

"Yes, what?—go on," cried Violet. Evelina looked up. The child's eyes shone with a purple light of joy; her face was radiant, her lips trembled. "Go on, go on."

"Well, one day when he was out walking in the street, a wicked, cruel boy threw a stone at him— a large, heavy stone—and it struck him on the back."

"Go on," cried Violet, clutching Evelina's wrist with her burning little hand. "God helped him, I am sure."

"Yes, God helped him; for when all the people cried out and ran to him suddenly, there came a great light all round him, so that they could not see where he lay, and there were angels all round about him comforting him; and then out of his poor aching shoulders there sprang up all at once two great shining wings, and the angels whispered something in his ears, and he stretched his wings wide out, and away he flew with them right up to heaven; and God opened the gates and took him in, and he was at rest."

"Yes, quite at rest; and he too had no more tears, and he was quite, quite happy," said Violet. "And this is all true, is it not, Evelina?"

Evelina caught one glimpse of the little quivering face, and she replied quickly,—

"Without doubt; at least it is just as I read it in the book."

"It was not a fairy tale?"

"No, certainly not."

"Evelina, come closer. There, put thy arms round my neck." Violet pressed her little burning lips on Evelina's cheek. "I will never be cross with thee any more—never, never. I will try to love thee better every day.—And all the poor sick hunchbacks have wings, have they not; and I, too, I shall have wings?"

"Oh yes, beautiful shining wings." In Evelina's own throat there was a catch now, and she breathed painfully. "There, let me settle thy pillows, and try and rest a bit; it will do thee good to sleep awhile."

"Yes, I am so tired; but that story thou toldest me is too, too lovely." She loosened her arms from Evelina's neck and lay back with a long contented sigh.

"Where shall I put this Bible, darling?"

"On the chest, please; or stay, it is better to put it inside. Open the lid and lay it down in the corner quite close to my bed."

Evelina raised the cover, as she was told, and placed the book in the spot indicated by Violet.

"Take care that thou dost not crush the hat. Just lift the muslin and see."

Evelina lifted a long strip of muslin which lay all along the inside of the chest. In the corner next the bed there lay a large Leghorn hat, trimmed with pale blue ribbon and forget-me-nots.

"Ah, how beautiful! Whose hat is it?" she asked, stooping quickly to examine it.

"It is my mother's. She always wore it on Sundays. And father put it by there with all her other clothes when—when—; but please cover it up and shut the box."

Evelina closed the lid very slowly, her eyes to the last moment dwelling on the forget-me-nots and the trimming of pale blue satin.

"Lovely!" she said again to herself as she shut down the cover.

"Yes, lovely!" murmured Violet, whose eyelids were already closing; "and when Violet has wings mother will be standing there, beside God, waiting for her."

"Poor child!" said Evelina, turning and looking compassionately at the little faded face on the pillow; "she has but one idea, and that is heaven." Then crossing the room and opening the door of the inner apartment, she walked gently over to the glass which stood on the dressing-table, and gazed at herself for a long time in the mirror. "I am sure I should look lovely in that hat," she said presently. "I have just the complexion for forget-me-nots, and besides, my hair is just the same colour as the lock she showed me." And then taking up her knitting from the table, she returned to Violet's room and sat down in the window to work.