"It was very disagreeable--that dream," continued the invalid, her thoughts drifting into another quarter. "I thought--I thought I was climbing up and up, and it was very cold as I climbed, and I thought I was amongst the ice, and the great snows, and Molly was there, but a long way down, and I was falling, and Molly would not come to help me. Then it was Nesta, and she would not help me either, Nesta only laughed, and said something about Flossie--Flossie Griffiths. Marcia, have you seen Flossie Griffiths? You know I don't like her much, do you?" "I have not seen her, dear. Don't talk too much. It weakens you." "But I'm not really ill, am I?" "Oh, no, Mrs Aldworth," said the doctor. "You have just had an attack of weakness, but you are better; it is passing off now, and you have a grand pulse. I wish I had as good a one." He smiled at her in his cheery way, and by-and-by he went out of the room. Marcia followed him. "Some one must sit up with her all night," said the doctor, "and I will stay in the house." "Oh, doctor," said Marcia, "is it as bad as all that?" "It is so bad that if she has another attack we cannot possibly pull her through. If she survives until the morning, I will call in Dr Benson, the first authority in Newcastle. The thing is to prevent a recurrence of the attack. The longer it is stared off the greater probability there is that there will be no repetition." "I will sit up with her, of course," said Marcia. "She would rather have me than any hired nurse." "I know that. I am glad. But some one must see your sisters when they come in." It was just at that moment that a girl, somewhat fagged, somewhat shabby looking, with a face a good deal torn, for she had got amongst briars and thorns and underwood on her way home, crept up the narrow path towards the house. This girl was her mother's darling, Nesta, the youngest of the family, the baby, as she was called. Her time with Flossie had, after all, been the reverse of agreeable. They had begun their tea with every prospect of having a good time; but soon the mob of rough people who had come to witness the donkey races discovered them, and so terrified both little girls that they ran away and hid, leaving all Flossie's property behind them. This was thought excellent fun by the roughs of Newcastle; they scoured the woods, looking for the children, and as a matter of fact, poor Nesta had never got a greater fright than when she crouched down in the brambles, devoutly hoping that some of the rough boys would not pull her out of her lair. Eventually she and Flossie had escaped with only a few scratches and some torn clothes, but she was miserably tired and longing for comfort when she approached the house. So absorbed was she with her own adventures that she absolutely forgot the fact that she had run away and left her mother to the care of the others. As she entered the house, however, it flashed upon her what might be thought of her conduct.