“Only!” sobbed Miss Somerset. “Oh, if you had seen him! And he lies like death.” “Yes,” said Dr. Andrews; “a severe epileptic fit is really a terrible thing to look at; but it is not dangerous in proportion. Is he used to have them?” “Oh, no, doctor--never had one before.” Here she was mistaken, I think. “You must keep him quiet; and give him a moderate stimulant as soon as he can swallow comfortably; the quietest room in the house; and don't let him be hungry, night or day. Have food by his bedside, and watch him for a day or two. I'll come again this evening.” The doctor went to his dinner--tranquil. Not so those he left. Miss Somerset resigned her own luxurious bedroom, and had the patient laid, just as he was, upon her bed. She sent the page out to her groom and ordered two loads of straw to be laid before the door; and she watched by the sufferer, with brandy and water by her side. Sir Charles now might have seemed to be in a peaceful slumber, but for his eyes. They were open, and showed more white, and less pupil, than usual. However, in time he began to sigh and move, and even mutter; and, gradually, some little color came back to his pale cheeks. Then Miss Somerset had the good sense to draw back out of his sight, and order Polly to take her place by his side. Polly did so, and, some time afterward, at a fresh order, put a teaspoonful of brandy to his lips, which were still pale and even bluish. The doctor returned, and brought his assistant. They put the patient to bed. “His life is in no danger,” said he. “I wish I was as sure about his reason.” At one o'clock in the morning, as Polly was snoring by the patient's bedside, a hand was laid on her shoulder. It was Rhoda. “Go to bed, Polly: you are no use here.” “You'd be sleepy if you worked as hard as I do.” “Very likely,” said Rhoda, with a gentleness that struck Polly as very singular. “Good-night.” Rhoda spent the night watching, and thinking harder than she had ever thought before. Next morning, early, Polly came into the sick-room. There sat her sister watching the patient, out of sight. “La, Rhoda! Have you sat there all night?” “Yes. Don't speak so loud. Come here. You've set your heart on this lilac silk. I'll give it to you for your black merino.” “Not you, my lady; you are not so fond of mereeny, nor of me neither.” “I'm not a liar like you,” said the other, becoming herself for a moment, “and what I say I'll do. You put out your merino for me in the dressing-room.” “All right,” said Polly, joyfully. “And bring me two buckets of water instead of one. I have never closed my eyes.” “Poor soul! and now you be going to sluice yourself all the same. Whatever you can see in cold water, to run after it so, I can't think. If I was to flood myself like you, it would soon float me to my long home.”