When Hettie awoke to consciousness, Henry was bending over her, while her mother sat by her side, smoothing her beautiful forehead, and putting back the dark locks which kept falling over it. All was still; she listened for those terrible sounds which had well nigh driven her reason; but no sound could she hear, except the sweet voice of Henry. 'You feel better now?' 'Oh, yes; but how has it all come about?' 'We must ask you that, my dear?' said her mother; 'it is all a mystery, a great mystery to us.' 'Sally went for you then, mother? I was fearful it would all be over before she could get there.' 'Yes, my dear, and she is now sitting with your brother until we get home.' 'Do let us go, then, for I am so anxious to get away from this terrible place--but there--what is that!' and Hettie darted a wild glance towards the door. Henry and her mother looked at each other. 'There is nothing here, Hettie--no one beside your dear mother and myself.' 'Oh--well--I am so glad!' Henry said nothing of his fears; but a terrible thought came into his mind; which was more and more confirmed by an occasional wild glance of her eye. 'Her mind has been injured, or she is about to be visited with severe illness.' The mother probably did not think as far as he did, although she felt that there was need for immediate departure. 'Are you able to walk, my dear? if so, we had better be going.' 'Oh yes, to be sure, mother.' And she quickly rose from the rude bed on which she had been laid; but no sooner did she attempt to stand, than her trembling limbs gave way. Henry caught her, and again laid her to rest: she was evidently ill already, and no time must be lost in getting away from that miserable abode. The men who had accompanied Henry were still in waiting to conduct him home. By their aid a litter was constructed; and while the anxious mother bore the torch to light them through the gloom, Henry with his two guides carried the suffering girl. It was a sad journey that for Henry Tracy. The wild and incoherent remarks which Hettie made, the deathly pallor of her countenance, and the quick flashing of her eye, which he discerned as the light occasionally fell upon her features, confirmed his worst fears. By his persuasion, the widow consented that she should be taken to Mr. Rutherford's, her own humble home offering no suitable convenience for another invalid. The ways of God appear unequal only to those who judge prematurely, or without taking into the account that this world is not the end. God sees as we do not: His design in all the dealings of His judgments and His mercies here towards those who love Him, is to make them trust in Him, and cast their thoughts, too prone to settle on this vale of tears and be content with earth, upwards, towards that better, purer home in heaven. CHAPTER XXIX.