He stopped suddenly at sight of the little flower-girl again. She was talking to a disreputably dressed lad, who, with a rimless cap stuck on one side of his head, was evidently annoyed at the detention. "Don't go, Jack. 'T would grieve her, even in heaven, if she knew you'd turn back to the bad after all she's done for yer." "I'm hungry, and if I go home mammy'll beat me, sure." "No, she won't, Jack,—not when I tell her about the kind lady. Come, go with me." "Take this and buy a cake," exclaimed Mr. Lambert, thrusting some silver pieces into Nanny's hand. Not waiting for any thanks, he strode off in the opposite direction, muttering, "Old fool! Just like you! Meddling, always meddling." After using his handkerchief vigorously, he went on: "What business is it of mine, if she dies to-day? I don't care. Yes, that's a lie: you do care, you old sinner! You only say that because you're so hateful,—you know you care. You'll never see another like her. There!" CHAPTER XIII. ANNIE'S LETTER. THE third week of Marion's sickness there came a crisis and hope. Yes, it was evident to all there was hope now, where fear had prevailed. The doctor's mouth, which had been so firm and rigid, relaxed; and there was a suspicion of a smile. Hepsey's eyes were less watery, James opened and shut the outer door in a jubilant manner, proud of being the one to say to the anxious inquirers,— "The doctor begins to hope." On Annie Leman's pale face had come beams of light, which made her beautiful. Scarcely conscious of her own action, she went forward to the physician, caught his hand and pressed it in both hers. "How can I thank you sir," she said, softly. "Pshaw, Miss Annie! She owes more to you than to me. We can both thank God. She has been so close to the open gates, I think she can tell us something of what is inside." One Thursday morning, twenty-six days from the time she left Grantbury, Marion opened her eyes and the light of consciousness dawned in them. For one instant there was a bewildered expression as she gazed at her faithful watcher, who sat by her side; then she smiled, and said faintly,— "It's Annie." "Yes, dear." "How came I in bed? I remember I felt ill in the cars." "You have been sick, but you are much better now. Take a spoonful of this, dear, and go to sleep again." "Lie down by me, Annie, and I'll try to sleep. You look pale and tired." Annie smoothed the pillow, changed Marion's position, and then lay down on the outside of the bed, as she had done so many times during the last weary weeks. "Miss Howard's excellent constitution is doing wonders for her," remarked Dr. Ross, as, after the crisis, she seemed to make a leap into the arms of health. "No more drugs: Nature will do her own work now." This was Marion's first experience of severe illness, and it was difficult to make her understand that for a time she must be economical of her newly gained energies.