"Stop crying this minute, Gertrude. You act like a child; and you shall be treated like one." She fell back in a fit of hysterics, crying and laughing, her hands growing every moment more cold, until he grew really alarmed. Bridget wild with excitement flew to the rescue; one moment weeping over her darling mistress, and kissing the cold hands; the next turning fiercely upon her master. "You're the most unnatural husband the world houlds in it," she exclaimed, confronting him. "Ye've killed her with yer hard words, and she never letting me lisp a whisper of comfort. An angel out of heaven couldn't be more meek and condescinding to yer whims than she, poor crather; and now ye've killed her entirely." "Do you think there is any danger, Bridget?" he asked, suddenly growing pale. "Indade, and there is. If ye had the sinse of a man, let alone a lawyer, ye'd be off for the doctor at oncet." Without a word he put on his hat, when she rattled after him: "If she iver does come back to her sinses, 'twould be the greatest comfort of her life to see Mrs. Gilbert. That's the truth out of Bridget McCarty's mouth, and ye may do what ye plaze with it." CHAPTER XII. THE TINY ROSE BUD. THE next morning's mail carried a letter to Mr. Wallingford, announcing the birth of a tiny girl; and that Gertrude was so prostrated by the nervous spasms which followed, that fears for her life began to be entertained. Unfortunately, Edward was absent on business when the letter arrived; but as it was postmarked "haste," the clerk carried it at once to Rose Cottage. The trial of poor Hannah at being confined to her couch, while her dear child was dying, perhaps for want of her care; may be easier imagined than described. She worried and chafed until she brought on a fever which did not abate until a second letter was received from Chicago, saying Gerty's symptoms were decidedly more favorable. She had roused from her lethargy, enough to call for her babe; and when once she had it in her arms, could scarcely be prevailed upon to give it up again. The child, which she had instantly whispered was to be named, Rose Wallingford, was so feeble and puny, that it could not probably live many days; and on this slender, delicate prop the young mother's life seemed to be dependent. As may well be supposed Mr. Wallingford lost no time in hurrying to the bedside of his sister. He found her looking fragile as a lily upon which the wind has blown too roughly; but with the light of a mother's love beaming from every feature. "Isn't she a darling?" she murmured as he bent over the tiny form. "I am so happy. If God will only spare her to me, I will try to make her like our mother." The tears filled her eyes as he repeated some of Hannah's many messages. "If crawling on my hands, and knees, darling, would have taken me to you in time. I would have been glad to go."