"My goodness!" cried Kate. "Wine! Mamma, here's some wine for you!" But there was no answer. Poor Mrs. Raynor lay back in her chair unable to speak, the silent tears stealing down her worn cheeks. Charles bent over and kissed her. Little Bob, in his nightgown, crouched down by her side at the fire; whilst Edina, throwing off her shawl and bonnet, began to prepare for supper. CHAPTER VIII. HARD LINES. Lying in her darkened chamber, sick almost unto death, was Mrs. Frank Raynor. A baby, a few days old, slept in a cot by the wall. No other child had been born to her, until now, since that season of peril at Eagles' Nest: and just as her life had all but paid the forfeit then, so it had again now. She was in danger still; she, herself, thought dying. An attentive nurse moved noiselessly about the room. Edina stood near the bed, fanning the poor pale face resting on it. The window was wide open, behind the blind: for the invalid's constant cry throughout the morning had been, "Give me air!" A light, quick step on the stairs, and Frank entered. He took the fan from Edina's tired hand, and she seized the opportunity to go down to the kitchen, to help Eve with the jelly ordered by Dr. Tymms; a skilful practitioner, who had been in constant attendance. Daisy opened her eyes to look at her husband, and the nurse quitted the room, leaving them together. "You will soon be about again, my darling," said Frank, in his low, earnest, hopeful tones, that were worth more than gold in a sick chamber. "Tymms assures me you are better this morning." "I don't want to get about," faintly responded Daisy. "Not want to get about!" cried Frank, uncertain whether it would be best to treat the remark as a passing fancy arising from weakness, or to inquire farther into it--for everything said by his wife now bore this depressing tenor. "And you ought to know that I cannot wish it," she resumed. "But I do not know it, Daisy, my love. I do not know why you should speak so." "I shall be glad to die." Frank bent a little lower, putting down the fan. "Daisy, I honestly believe that you will recover; that the turning-point has come and gone. Tymms thinks so. Why, yesterday you could not have talked as you are talking now." "I know I am dying. And it is so much the better for me." He put his hand under the pillow, raising it slightly to bring her face nearer his, and spoke very tenderly and persuasively. He knew that she was _not_ dying; that she was, in fact, improving. "My darling, you are getting better; and will get better. But, were it as you think, Daisy, all the more reason would exist for telling me what you mean, and why you have so long been in this depressed state of mind. Let me know the cause, Daisy." For a few minutes she did not reply. Frank thought that she was deliberating whether or not she should answer--and he was not mistaken. She closed her eyes again, and he took up the fan.