A little feather lay on the crimson coverlet; Flora raised it with a trembling hand, placed it almost close to the lips of her mother, and then watched it as a perishing castaway might watch a distant sail, the one dim speck of hope on the dark waste of waters. It moved!--yes, yes--it moved! It was not the morning breeze that stirred the down; the breath of life had not passed away from those pallid lips; they might yet speak a blessing--they were not closed for ever! Flora retired from the room with noiseless step, shedding silent tears of thankfulness and joy. The doctor came, but would not disturb the sleeper. Every hour of quiet repose, he said, would do more to restore the sufferer than all the remedies which art could devise. He believed, he trusted, that the crisis was past. Should this slumber continue every hope might be indulged; but the house must be kept perfectly quiet. And perfectly quiet it was kept. Even the sound of children’s voices was hushed, and little feet crept noiselessly down stairs. Johnny took off his shoes ere he passed his grandmother’s room. Flora still continued at her melancholy post--watching at the door which she feared to enter, weeping, praying, and reviewing her past life with deep humility and contrition. The sun had reached his noonday height, though remaining invisible behind the clouds, which had been ceaselessly pouring down their white, flaky showers upon the earth, when, with a rapid step and flushed countenance, Johnny hurried towards Lady Legrange. He needed not the gesture of her finger on her lip; he uttered not a word, spoke not a question, but he thrust into her hand an open paper which had just been brought from the telegraph office. Flora felt dizzy and confused; she passed her hand across her eyes before she could read the paper, and when she had read it every object appeared swimming around her. It was brief, as such messages always are, but how terrible in its stern brevity,-- "_Sir Amery has been thrown from his horse. Return home without delay, if you would find him alive._" That was all that was written, but it was enough--enough to wring the heart, to fill the cup of anguish to overflowing! Flora started from her seat--she was pale as death; but she uttered no cry--but one object was before her now. Oh! for the lightning’s wing to fly back to her husband!