"You must save her! She's all I have in the world!" she cried, turning desperately, almost fiercely, upon the doctor. "Madam, I use my utmost skill, but life and death are in greater hands than mine," he replied. For many hours Alison's life trembled in the balance. The district nurse had been sent for, and with the doctor watched the case anxiously all night through. At length, when morning dawned, a turn came for the better. "Let her sleep now and she'll do," said Dr. Hall to the nurse. "Can't we get her mother out of the room somehow?" "Miss Sherbourne is downstairs. I know her, and I dare say she will help," suggested the nurse. Aunt Barbara had also spent the night at the inn, partly because she thought it wiser to let Dorothy keep warm in bed, instead of attempting to remove her; and partly because she felt she could not leave till she knew that Alison was out of danger. She had sat up, hoping that she might be of assistance, though she had not liked to intrude her presence into the sick-room until she was asked. She came now at the nurse's request, and gently persuaded poor worn-out Mrs. Clarke to go downstairs and have some hot tea, which the inn-keeper's wife had made ready. "It is better to leave the room in absolute quiet for a while," she said. "Nurse is keeping watch, and indeed the doctor says there is no further cause for anxiety." Mrs. Clarke's hand shook as she held her cup. "I can hardly realize yet that she is safe. Oh, if you knew how I have suffered! My head is on fire. I want to go out into the air," she replied pantingly. The light was breaking clearly in the east, and Miss Sherbourne opened the front door. The two women stepped together into the garden. "Everything seems quiet," said Mrs. Clarke, looking up at Alison's window. "You are sure, if there is the slightest change, that Nurse will call me? Then let us walk across the lawn. I want to talk to you. I must speak now--at once, while I have the courage." "Shall we sit here?" said Miss Sherbourne, indicating a bench that faced the dawn. The hour was strangely beautiful. The sky, flushing in tints of rose and mauve, heralded the rising sun; the bushes were still masses of rich, warm shadow, but a group of turn-cap lilies stood out fair and golden against the dark background, shedding their heavy fragrance around. A thrush had begun to stir in the laburnum tree, and piped his fine mellow notes; and a blackbird answered from the elm opposite. The world was waking to another day of wonderful, pulsing life. "Weeping and heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning," murmured Aunt Barbara softly. Mrs. Clarke sat for a few moments gazing at the quiet scene. She was still intensely agitated, and kept clasping and unclasping her hands nervously upon her knee.