And then she lifted the linen cloth that was laid over his forehead, and dipped it afresh in the bowl of ice water beside the bed, and put it gently back, and just kissed his hair softly, and went out into her own room. Three nights--three days--more, the fever raged. And on the fourth night after, Faith and her mother knew, by the scrupulous care with which the doctor gave minute directions for the few hours to come, and the resolute way in which Miss Sampson declared that "whoever else had a mind to watch, she should sit up till morning this time," that the critical point was reached; that these dark, silent moments that would flit by so fast, were to spell, as they passed by, the sentence of life or death. Faith would not be put by. Her mother sat on one side of the bed, while the nurse busied herself noiselessly, or waited, motionless, upon the other. Down by the fireside, on a low stool, with her head on the cushion of an easy-chair, leaned the young girl--her heart full, and every nerve strained with emotion and suspense. She will never know, precisely, how those hours went on. She can remember the low breathing from the bed, and the now and then half-distinct utterance, as the brain wandered still in a dreamy, feverish maze; and she never will forget the precise color and pattern of the calico wrapper that Nurse Sampson wore; but she can recollect nothing else of it all, except that, after a time, longer or shorter, she glanced up, fearfully, as a strange hush seemed to have come over the room, and met a look and gesture of the nurse that warned her down again, for her life. And then, other hours, or minutes, she knows not which, went by. And then, a stir--a feeble word--a whisper from Nurse Sampson--a low "Thank God!" from her mother. The crisis was passed. Henderson Gartney lived. CHAPTER X. ROUGH ENDS. "So others shall Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand, From thy hand and thy heart, and thy brave cheer, And God's grace fructify through thee to all." MRS. BROWNING. "M. S. What does that stand for?" said little Hendie, reading the white letters painted on the black leather bottom of nurse's carpetbag. He got back, now, often, in the daytime, to his old nursery quarters, where his father liked to hear his chatter and play, for a short time together--though he still slept, with Mahala, upstairs. "Does that mean 'Miss Sampson'?" Faith glanced up from her stocking mending, with a little fun and a little curiosity in her eyes. "What does 'M.' stand for?" repeated Hendie. The nurse was "setting to rights" about the room. She turned round at the question, from hanging a towel straight over the stand, and looked a little amazed, as if she had almost forgotten, herself. But it came out, with a quick opening and shutting of the thin lips, like the snipping of a pair of scissors--"Mehitable."