Day after day as it passed proved to all Marion's friends that the young girl who glided so noiselessly around the bed was possessed of a native skill just fitting her to take a part in the struggle between life and death going on in that chamber. She was never seen to sleep, and yet she never seemed weary. Not a movement of that prone figure escaped her notice, not an order or prescription of the physician was forgotten. When the doctor asked in wonder,— "What sustains you?" her brief answer was, "Love, sir. Love and gratitude. She deserves from me all that I can give her." Hepsey told Mrs. Asbury, who came from Grantbury to see her niece,— "We have all cause to thank God for sending Miss Annie here. The doctor says, if our dear Marion lives through this dreadful time, it will be the loving care, which, with the blessing of God, has brought her through." If Mr. Lambert believed what he was so fond of affirming, that the poor are a thankless set, who will steal your purse the minute your back is turned, his faith in this assurance might have been shaken by the genuine sorrow manifested during Miss Howard's illness. One instance of affection and gratitude he was himself a witness of. He was approaching Miss Howard's door early one morning with a bunch of exquisite blossoms in his hand, carefully shielded from sun and wind by the tissue paper covering, when he saw a little girl approaching from the opposite direction. She had on a thin shawl, which she held out from her person as though shielding something precious. Curiosity prompted the gentleman to watch and see what she was going to do. He held back till she ran down the basement steps and timidly rang the bell of the lower door of Mr. Mitchell's house. Cautiously he stepped forward, and saw her hold out one little pink. "Will you please give the kind lady this?" she asked, in a pleading tone. "When I was down with fever, she brought me a beautiful bush all covered with flowers, and she told me how to water it, and put it in the sun. This flower came out last night. There are no more, or I would have brought them. She's been ever so good to mammy and me." There were tears in her voice as she spoke, and the listener, grumbling under his breath at his own folly, put up his finger to prevent a tear from falling from his own eye. "What's your name?" asked the woman at the door. "Nanny Morse,—she'll know." "Well, I'll see that she has it,—if it's only to hold in her poor, unconscious fingers," she added, as the child, after an earnest "Thank you, ma'am," turned away. Mr. Lambert afterwards confessed that he felt like throwing his costly flowers into the street. He did not, however; he rang the bell, delivered them to James, the servant in waiting, received the sadly spoken message, "No change, sir," and then hurried away, muttering,— "World upside down; just my luck; only girl in all the crowd worth that," snapping his finger; "and she going—"