Her uncle and aunt were, of course, very angry with her. And Mr. Randolph at first felt inclined to yield to his wife's proposal, that she should be sent home at once. But Isabel was so distressed when she heard of it, and Mabel begged so earnestly to be allowed to stay and nurse her cousin at least until she was a little better, that Mr. Randolph yielded the point at last, but he could not wholly forgive Mabel yet. Before the end of the week stipulated for by Isabel, her father insisted upon sending for the physician who had seen her once or twice before, and the verdict he had to give was anxiously waited for by Mr. Randolph. Alas! Before he saw her, the physician knew what that verdict would have to be, and he almost dreaded to meet the searching gaze that he knew awaited him down-stairs. Mr. Randolph drew him into the library and shut the door. "Now, tell me what you think of her, doctor," he said as he handed him a chair. "It is useless for me to try and deceive you," said the physician compassionately. And then as gently as he could, he told the heart-stricken father all the truth—that there was no hope, and a few weeks would probably end the mortal life of his best-beloved daughter. Mr. Randolph proposed taking her away to the south of France at once, but the physician shook his head. "It would be downright cruelty to attempt it," he said. "If I had seen that such a change would have done her any good, I should have ordered it last spring. But I knew that the fatigue and excitement incident upon travelling, would but have hastened the end, and you would only have taken her away to die. Her gentle placid disposition, and the even tenor of her life, has doubtless prolonged her existence by some months," added the physician. "But she caught cold and got overfatigued a short time ago—it was that that brought on the attack," said Mr. Randolph. "It may have accelerated things a little, but this damp cold weather has done the most mischief. If I am not greatly mistaken, she knows herself that the end is near, for as I was leaving her she whispered, 'You will not send me away, doctor?' And her eyes said plainly enough that she knew it would be of no use." Mr. Randolph covered his face with his hands and groaned in agony. "Forgive me, doctor," he said after a pause, "but the world will be empty to me when she has left it. She has been the home sunshine, and there is not a servant in the house but could tell you of some little kindness done, some little considerate act in sparing them trouble, or helping them over a difficulty—Oh, doctor, doctor, can nothing save her?" he broke off, wringing his hands in anguish. The physician was a Christian, and, valuable as his time was, he contrived to spare an hour to sit and comfort the sorrow-stricken father so that at last he was able to go to Isabel calm at least.