We left the family at Lodore House enjoying, we hope, the refreshment of a good night's rest. The next morning Frances, before she thought of breakfast, repaired to the bedside of Edmund. He had been for some time awake; but, unaccustomed, it would seem, to have any friend or confidant, he had not ventured to speak or stir. The tones of Frances' voice, naming him to the servants as she inquired for him, appeared to bring at once happiness and confidence to his heart. He opened his eyes as she bent over him: he started up, clung round her neck, and wept; though now it was evidently for joy. These first transports, over however, he cast, from time to time, doubting glances on the various sides of the apartment, and especially towards that in which the door was placed, and evinced a great anxiety to retain Frances' hand. She thought him feverish; and with great alarm perceived that his poor little frame was covered with fearful bruises. His neck and hands first drew her attention; and Mrs. Smyth, the housekeeper, soon ascertained that the limbs, concealed by the night-dress, had suffered full as much. Frances sent to Keswick for medical aid, and left her charge with Mrs. Smyth. Mrs. Smyth was a good-natured woman, added to which, the patience and gentleness of the little sufferer had begun to win upon her heart, from the very moment her assistance was first ordered to him. She found it necessary to sit by and encourage him while he breakfasted, for, like a wild animal, driven by hunger nearer to the haunts of man than usual, he started, and desisted from eating, at every sound. "And what might you have for breakfast yesterday's morn, my dear?" said Mrs. Smyth. "Nothing," he answered. "And what had you for dinner, then?" "Nothing." "Nothing, my dear!" repeated the good woman; "and ye could na ha' less! Ney fault tell the cooking o' sic dinners, to be sure! And wha was it then, that beat and bruised the life and saul out on ye in this shamefoo manner, my dear?" she continued. Edmund trembled, sighed heavily, and was silent. "And win't ye tall me wha it was 'at beat ye?" Tears stood in his eyes, but still he was silent. "So you win't speak till me! And after the nice breakfast I geed ye, too!" The tears now flowed, but still he was silent. "And wha was it then, that droonded ye in the water?" He looked all round, but did not speak; and Mrs. Smyth soon saw it was vain to persist in questioning him. Mr. Dixon, the Keswick surgeon, arrived. He inquired of Mrs. Smyth what the child had eaten, and how his food had seemed to agree with him. Having received due replies, he turned to Frances, who by this time was just entering, and addressed her thus:--