She had been the only nurse of her kind mistress through her last long illness. Hers was that faithful affection that preferred long vigils at the bedside through the watches of the night,--the nurse that the sleepless eye ever found awake. Hers was that sentient sympathy that could interpret the weary look,--that love that steals into the darkened room, anticipating every wish, divining every want, and which, in silence, like the evening dew on drooping flowers, revives and soothes the sufferer. Her cares were unavailing: her kind mistress died, commending the little Edith to her watchful love. Dinah received her as if she had been more than the child of her own bosom. Henceforth she was the jewel of her life; and, if Mr. Grafton had not interposed, she would have treated her like those precious jewels of the old Scottish regalia, that are said to be approached by only one person at a time, and that by torch-light. Our forefathers and foremothers had a maxim that the will of every child must be early broken, to insure that implicit and prompt obedience that the old system of education demanded. Mr. Grafton wisely left the breaking of the little Edith's will to Dinah. As we have seen, she was of a gentle temper, but, as a child, determined and obstinate. Obstinacy in a child is the strength of purpose which, in man and woman, leads to all excellence. Before it is guided by reason, it is mere wilfulness. It was wonderful with what a silken thread Dinah guided the little Edith. She possessed in her own character the firmness of the oak, and an iron resolution, but tempered so finely by the influences of love and religion, that she yielded to every thing that was not hurtful; but there she stopped, and went not a hair's breadth further. It was beautiful to see the little Edith watching the mild and loving but firm eye of Dinah,--which spoke as plain as eye could speak,--and, when it said "_No_," yielding like a young lamb to a silken tether. Nothing is easier than to gain the prompt obedience of a young child. Gentleness, firmness, and steadiness, are all that is requisite. Gentleness, firmness, and steadiness,--the two last perhaps the rarest qualities in tender mothers. When a young child finds its mother uniform--not one day weakly indulgent, and the next capriciously severe, but always the same mild, firm being--she is to the child like a beneficent but unchanging Providence; and he no more expects his own will to prevail, than children of an older growth expect the sun to stand still, and the seasons to change their order, for their convenience.