Margaret's feelings, upon being first told of Dr Bailey's opinion, were bitter beyond expression. She accused herself of having been the cause of all that had happened; and declared that unless Rose recovered she should never again know a happy moment; and then, as the burst of sorrow subsided, she endeavoured to find some excuse for her own conduct in that of Miss Cunningham, appealing to Dora to determine whether, if it had not been for her, she should have been induced to leave Rose by herself. Dora tried to console her; but she could not help remembering what Colonel Herbert had said; for she saw that Margaret had no idea how faulty her conduct had been with regard to Miss Morton; so entirely, indeed, had it passed from her mind, that even when told of what Amy had thought it right to do, she took but little notice, merely saying that she had always thought Amy loved to meddle with everything, and then renewing her self-reproach and her complaints of Miss Cunningham. For some time she could not be persuaded to leave her room; but, as the hours wore away, she became more tranquil, and at last consented to go to her little sister, though it was with a shrinking reluctance, which proved how much she dreaded to look upon the change of which she had been partly the cause. The effect, however, was at first less painful than might have been expected. The medicines which had been administered had in a great degree lulled the pain, and Rose was now lying in a state of torpor. Margaret gazed on her for some moments in silence, but without any great apparent distress, until Rose opened her eyes and looked up in her face with perfect unconsciousness; and then her cheek turned pale, and her lip quivered, and, unable to bear the sight, she turned hastily away, and again shut herself up in her own room.

Several hours passed after Dr Bailey's departure, and Rose still continued so quiet, that a faint hope was felt even by Emily Morton that her strength of constitution would enable her to rally from the shock she had received. Mrs Herbert also fancied that she perceived some signs of returning intelligence, and went herself to Mr Harrington to cheer him with the favourable account, and to ask whether he thought it would be expedient to communicate it to Mrs Harrington; but the amendment was so trifling, that he feared the consequences of a second disappointment. She was therefore only told that Rose was more tranquil, and that everything had been done which Dr Bailey advised; and Mrs Herbert urged the necessity of her taking some rest, if she wished to be of any service in attending upon her child on the following day. At first she strenuously resisted, but her husband's entreaties at length prevailed; and, after some consultation, it was decided that Morris and Emily Morton should watch till the morning, and that Mrs Harrington should have the earliest intelligence if any change took place for the worse. Mr Harrington went to his room, but not to rest, still less to sleep. There were none, indeed, in the house who could obtain more than a few moments of forgetfulness. The slightest sound was listened for with anxiety; but through the greater part of the night all remained still, and nothing but the light which gleamed from the sick chamber would have indicated that any thing unusual had occurred. During this time there was no change to excite either hope or fear; and Emily, as she observed the perfect repose in which Rose was lying, almost hoped that she slept. The painful expression of a wandering mind had passed away, and but for the irregular breathing and the altered complexion, she could have imagined that her anxiety was a delusion. And yet the thought that Rose might recover did not bring with it entire happiness. In those silent hours of watching, Emily's mind had recovered its usual tone, and she had forced herself to look with steadiness upon the loss she dreaded. For herself, it would be the severing of her dearest earthly tie; but for Rose, it would be an escape from all the dangers of the world to the enjoyment of rest and peace for ever; and as she recurred to the bitter trials of her own life, and the sins and infirmities with which it had been crowded, she felt that to wish that one as yet so innocent should be spared to struggle with the same temptations would be merely a selfish regard to her own feelings, without any reference to considerations of far higher importance.

What Rose might be in after-life no one could dare to say. When she grew up Emily must leave Emmerton; and, though she could trust and hope that God would guard her through the difficulties of life, she could not but tremble for her. To lose her now, would be to feel that she was gone to happiness; to lose her then, might be to dread lest she should have forgotten the promise of her baptism, and departed from the path of holiness in which she had so earnestly endeavoured to lead her. The very possibility was fearful; and as it flashed upon her mind, Emily went to the window to relieve herself from the oppressive gloom of a sick chamber, by looking upon the heavenly beauty of a cloud-less night. All was perfectly still; the long shadows of the trees were motionless upon the lawn, and not even a leaf was stirred by the night breeze. The earth seemed to be at rest; but Emily well knew that the peace of that hour would quickly pass away, and that the morning might bring with it rain and storms to deface all that now appeared so fair. It was not upon the beauty of this world that her heart could dwell with comfort at such a moment; but she could look upon the bright stars which glittered above her head, and rejoice to think that there were homes where sorrow had never entered; and then she prayed, not that Rose might be restored to her, but that God would guard her whether in life or death, and grant to herself a perfect submission to His will.

Emily was still standing at the window when a slight sound startled her. She fancied that Rose had spoken; but Morris, who was at the further end of the room, had not noticed it. Again, however, her name was repeated distinctly; and when she went to the bed-side, she saw by the light of the lamp, that Rose had opened her eyes, and was gazing around, apparently bewildered with the new situation in which she found herself. At the first instant, Emily's heart bounded with joy, but another glance made it sink in despair. Rose had recovered her senses; but a change had passed over her countenance, which told that her hours were numbered. It was an expression that Emily had too often watched to be deceived; and anxiously beckoning to Morris, she determined upon sending immediately to Mr Harrington. Morris, however, was leaving the room, and did not observe her; and afraid of startling Mrs Harrington by ringing the bell, she thought it best to wait a few minutes for her return, and endeavour in the meantime to soothe and tranquillise the suffering child. "I am near you," she said, softly. "You know, my darling, that I never leave you."

"I thought you were gone," said Rose. "Why do you let me stay here?"

"Because it is better for you to be here than in any other place. You will not care if I am with you."

"It is all strange," said Rose. "When will you take me away?"

"If you are better, you may go by and by," answered Emily, hardly able to articulate the words; "but you are too ill now."

Rose tried to lift her little hand to her head, but she had not strength for the effort. "It pains me so," she said.

"But it is God who sends you the pain," replied Emily; "and He loves you so much, you will try and bear it."

"Will He make me die?" asked Rose, fixing her dark eyes earnestly upon
Emily's face.

For a moment Emily could not answer; and then, recovering herself, she said, "If God should make you die, my darling, He will take you to heaven; and you will live with Him, and with Jesus Christ, and the holy angels. You will not be afraid?"

"Must I go alone?" continued Rose. "You always said you would be with me everywhere."

"It is not God's will," replied Emily. "I must not go with you now, but I will pray that I may follow you by and by. And He will watch over you, and love you much more than I can; and you will be so happy, so very happy, you will never wish to return back again."

"Then you will come soon, and mamma, and papa, and all," murmured Rose, whilst her head sank, and her eyes closed.

Emily, in alarm, was about to ring the bell, when she again opened them. "Don't go," she said, feebly clasping Emily's hand. "It is all dark. Why will not mamma come?"

"She will be here directly, I hope," replied Emily. "But it is not really dark; and God is near, and the angels, though you cannot see them."

A second time Rose closed her eyes, and appeared to be repeating something to herself. Emily gently withdrew her hand, and going to the other side of the room, she rang to summon Morris. Rose looked at her as she stood again by her side, but scarcely seemed to know her, till Emily placed her hand on hers; and then, with an effort, she said, "am I naughty? Indeed I cannot remember it."

"Remember what?" asked Emily, anxiously endeavouring to catch the reply.

"Say it, say it," murmured the dying child.

Emily bent still closer, and heard the words—"Our Father, which art in heaven," though they were so faint as hardly to be intelligible. "I will say it for you," she replied, summoning all her self-command to subdue the agony of her feelings; and, kneeling down, she repeated, calmly and distinctly, the holy prayer which Rose had been taught in her earliest infancy, and which was now recurring to her mind, to bless and soothe her death-bed.

Whilst Emily was yet speaking, Mrs Harrington, followed by her husband, who had been alarmed at the sound of the bell, entered the room; but Rose did not appear to notice them. A momentary strength had been granted her, and with a clear though feeble voice, she followed the prayer to the end; and then, stretching out her little hand, she said, "Mamma, it is bright now. They are come to take me." And with a faint smile, as she half repeated Emily's name, her head once more sank upon the pillow, and the innocent spirit was at rest.