"I'm going to nurse her," said Fortune. "A properly trained nurse would be best," said the doctor. "I and no other am going to nurse her," repeated Fortune. She had taken off her bonnet and mantle and was seated quietly by the bedside. No one could look more capable, more determined, than the American woman did on this occasion. The doctor saw that he must give way. "Haven't I done for her from the blessed moment when she was sent from heaven into her mother's arms?" continued Fortune. "I shall nurse her now, whether it's the will of the Almighty that she lives or dies." At these words, little Diana opened her great, black eyes. "And you'll never know fear Any more, little dear," she said in a voice of intense satisfaction. Then she looked up at Fortune, and raised her brow in a puzzled manner. "I aren't fwightened of G'eased Lightning," she said. A smile broke over her little face, then the light of reason once more faded, and she entered the dark region of delirium and danger. The doctor did all he could and Fortune did all she could, and presently Aunt Jane appeared on the scene, and insisted on seeing the child, and shook her head over her and cried a little privately; but, in spite of all their efforts to get her well again, little Diana grew weaker, day by day. She did not know Fortune, except at very rare intervals. Day and night she talked incessantly of her past life, of the beautiful garden, of the animals, of Rub-a-Dub, and more especially of Rub-a-Dub's public funeral. She also mentioned Greased Lightning and Pole Star, and Uncle Ben and the circus; but when she talked of them her voice changed; it grew high, eager, and excited, and her little breath panted out of her weary body. She often ended her delirious talk with a cry of distress. "Oh, I has fallen," she said, with a sob. "I has fallen from the wing." Then she would clasp both her hot hands to her aching head, and moan bitterly. The doctor was very anxious about her, and Fortune was very sad, and so was Uncle William, and even Aunt Jane. The cablegram was sent to father, and they all earnestly hoped that he was already on his homeward way. Meanwhile, at the Manor, Iris, Apollo, and Orion had a hard time. It is true that they were no longer fettered or coerced in any way. Aunt Jane took scarcely any notice of them, and Uncle William spent most of his time alone. The three children could come in and out of the house as they pleased; they could wander about the garden where four used to play happily; they could visit the old haunts that four used to love; but because the fourth was now absent, the joy and the mirth of the old days seemed quite to have left the remaining three. As time went by, Iris grew whiter and whiter. Often she wandered away by herself, and flinging herself on the ground, would moan out her distress.