"How they must feel the change!" she thought within herself, "and yet perhaps not just now; these minor trials are probably swallowed up in a greater one." Mrs. Foster came in looking shabbier and more heart-broken than at their last interview. "My dear Mrs. Travilla, this is kind!" she said making a strong effort to speak with composure but failing utterly as she met the tender sympathizing look in the sweet soft eyes of her visitor. Elsie put her arms about her and wept with her. "Some one is ill, I fear?" she said at length. "Yes--my son. O Mrs. Travilla, I am going to lose him!" and she was well nigh convulsed with bitter, choking sobs. "While there is life there is hope," whispered Elsie, "who can say what God may do for us in answer to our prayers?" The mother shook her head in sad hopelessness. "The doctor has given him up; says nothing more can be done." "Dr. Barton?" "No, no, Savage. Oh if we could but have had Barton at first the result might have been different. I have no confidence in Savage, even when sober, and he's drunk nearly all the time now." "Oh then things may not be so bad as he represents them. Let me send over for Dr. Barton at once." "Thank you, but I must ask Wilkins first. He was wounded some weeks ago; injured internally, and has been suffering agonies of pain ever since. I wanted Dr. Barton sent for at once, but he would not hear of it, said the risk was too great and he must trust to Savage. But now--" she paused, overcome with grief. "But now the greater risk is in doing without him," suggested Elsie. "May I not send immediately?" "Excuse me one moment, and I will ask," the mother said, leaving the room. She returned shortly to say that Wilkins had consented that Dr. Barton should be summoned; accepted Mrs. Travilla's kind offer with thanks. Elsie at once sent her servant and carriage upon the errand, and meanwhile engaged in conversation with her hostess. It was principally an account by the latter of her son's illness. His sufferings, she said, had been intense: at first borne with fierce impatience and muttered imprecations upon the hand that had inflicted the wound. He had likened himself to a caged tiger, so unbearable was the confinement to him,--almost more so than the torturing pain--but of late a great change had come over him; he had grown quiet and submissive, and the bitter hate seemed to have died out of his heart. "As it has out of mine, I hope," continued the mother, the big tears rolling down her cheeks. "I am now sensible that the feelings I have indulged against some persons--the Lelands principally--were most unchristian, and I hope the Lord has helped me to put them away. It has been hard for us to see strangers occupying our dear old home; and yet it was certainly no fault of theirs that we were compelled to give it up."