Dr. Heriot gave Mildred and Richard a searching glance as they re-entered the room. Both looked worn and pale, but a softened and subdued expression was on Richard's face as he stood by the bedside, looking down on his sister. 'No change,' whispered Mildred. 'None at present; but there may be a partial rally. Where is Mr. Lambert, I want to speak to him;' and, as though to check further questioning, Dr. Heriot reiterated a few instructions, and left the room. The hours passed on. Richard, in spite of his aunt's whispered remonstrances, still kept watch beside her; and Mr. Lambert, who as usual had been praying by the side of his sick child, and had breathed over her unconsciousness his solemn benediction, had just left the room, when Mildred, who was giving her nourishment, noticed a slight change in Olive, a sudden gleam of consciousness in her eyes, perhaps called forth by her father's prayer, and she signed to Richard to bring him back. Was this the rally of which Dr. Heriot spoke? the brief flicker of the expiring torch flaming up before it is extinguished? Olive seemed trying to concentrate her drowsy faculties, the indistinct muttering became painfully earnest, but the unhappy father, though he placed his ear to the lips of the sinking girl, could connect no meaning with the inarticulate sounds, until Mildred's greater calmness came to his help. 'Home. I think she said home, Arnold;' and then with a quick intuitive light that surprised herself, 'I think she wishes to know if God means to take her home.' Olive's restlessness a little abated. This time the parched and blackened lips certainly articulated 'home' and 'mother.' They could almost fancy she smiled. 'Oh, do not leave me, my child,' ejaculated Mr. Lambert, stretching out his arms as though to keep her. 'God is good and merciful; He will not take away another of my darlings; stay a little longer with your poor father;' and Olive understood him, for the bright gleam faded away. 'Oh, father, she will surely stay if we ask her,' broke in Richard in an agitated voice, thrusting himself between them and speaking with a hoarse sob; 'she is so good, and knows we all love her and want her. You will not break my heart, Livy, you will forgive me and stay with us a little?' and Richard flung himself on his knees and buried his head on the pillow. Ah, the bright gleam had certainly faded now; there was a wandering, almost a terrified expression in the hollow, brilliant eyes. Were those gates closing on her? would they not let her go? 'Cardie, dear Cardie, hush, you are agitating her; look how her eyelids are quivering and she has no power to speak. Arnold, ask him to be calm,' and Mr. Lambert, still holding his seemingly dying child, laid his other hand on Richard's bent head.