"Phoebe, I hope you are not preventing any person from coming in. I should wish to see my daughter. Priscilla, my dear, let me see you. Come to me, my dear." Mrs Rowland's face was very pale, and her brow told of a dreadful headache. There was a dark expression in her countenance, but the traces of irritability were gone. She was subdued for the hour. "My dear daughter," said Mrs Enderby, "I may not be able at another time to thank you as I should like for all the care you have taken of me:--nor can I now do it as I could wish: but I thank you, my love." Mrs Rowland involuntarily cast a glance at her brother and Margaret, to see how they took this: but their eyes were fixed on her mother. "And I can only say," continued Mrs Enderby, "that I am aware that you must have had many things to bear from me. I must have been much in your way, and often--" Margaret and Philip implored her to say nothing of this kind; they could not bear it from one who was all patience herself, and gave no cause for forbearance in others. Mrs Rowland did not speak--perhaps because she could not. "Well, well; I will not dwell upon these things. You are all very kind. I only wanted to say that I was sensible of--of many things. Priscilla--" "Mother!" said she, starting. "This dear young friend of ours,--she calls herself my daughter, bless her!--is to be your sister, my love. Philip has been telling me--. Let me see--. Give me the pleasure of seeing--" Margaret could have opened her arms to any spectre from the pale kingdoms at a moment like this, and under the imploring eye of Mrs Enderby. She disengaged her hand from that of her old friend, and took Mrs Rowland's, offering to kiss her cheek. Mrs Rowland returned the kiss, with some little visible agitation. "Thank you, my dears!" said Mrs Enderby, in a strong voice of satisfaction. She had made a great effort. Her speech now failed her; but they thought she would have said something about the children. "The children--" said Mrs Rowland, rather eagerly. She turned, and went slowly out of the room. The moment the door was shut, there was a heavy fall. She had fainted on the outside. Her mother heard it not. When Mrs Rowland was found to be reviving, the children were brought to their grandmamma's room. They quietly visited the bed, one by one, and with solemnity kissed the wasted cheek,--the first time they had ever kissed grandmamma without return. The baby made its remark upon this in its own way. As it had often done before, it patted the cheek rather roughly: several hands were instantly stretched out to stop its play; it set up a cry, and was hurried out of the room.