"Who is this?" he whispered, looking at Iris. "It's the eldest little sister, sir," said Fortune; "she came down here this morning quite unbidden, and she told the little one that she was her mother, and the little one smiled and went off sound asleep directly." The doctor, too, retreated into the outer room. "It is my belief that the little girl has saved the child's life," he said. "Whatever you do, don't make a sound; my little patient has not slept like this since the beginning of her illness. This sleep will probably be the turning-point. I shall not be far off; send for me whenever she awakens." The day wore on, the evening approached; and Iris still knelt by Diana's side, and Diana still slept. The sick child had no dreams in that healthful, beautiful, life-restoring slumber. Slowly, hour by hour, the fret and the worry left the little face, the burning fever departed, the little brow grew cool and calm; smiles--baby smiles--came once more round the lips; the old child-look--the old Diana-look--returned. Iris knelt on. Her knees ached, her arms ached, her head ached; she grew stiff; she grew first hot and then cold; but never once did she move or swerve from her original position. The great joy of her spirit supported her through the terrible ordeal. At long, long last she was really a little mother; she was saving Diana's life. Now and then Fortune approached to hold a cup of milk or other restorative to Iris' pale lips. She feared that the child might faint before Diana awoke. But great love enabled Iris to go through this time of suffering. She neither fainted nor failed. The beautiful healing sleep lasted for nearly eight hours; then, when faint, cool shadows had stolen across the sick room, little Diana opened her eyes. She saw Iris still kneeling in the same position and looking at her with a world of love in her face. Diana smiled back in answer to the love. "I's k'ite well, Iris," she said. "I's had a beaut'ful s'eep, and there's not going to be a pwivate nor yet a public funeral." "No, no, Di!" said Iris, sobbing now as she spoke. "I's hung'y," said little Diana. "I'd like my supper awfu' much." * * * * * The crisis was over, and Diana was to live. From that hour she recovered, slowly but surely. Iris was allowed to be with her a good deal, and the mere fact of Iris being in the room always seemed to chase the irritation and the weakness of that long recovery away. At the end of a fortnight the sick child was well enough to return to Delaney Manor. Then, from being half well she became quite well, and when the autumn really came, and the cool breezes blew in from the sea, father returned to his home once more, and he and Aunt Jane had a long talk, and it was finally arranged that the four children were to remain in the old home, and were to play in the old garden, and that father was to stay at home himself and look after them as best he could.