I now found the benefit of having reduced the child to obedience. She submitted, sorrowfully, but passively, when I told her that she could not go to her mother to-night, but if she wanted to please her she must be good and quiet and do as she was bid. "I will try to be good!" said she, pitifully, as I began to unlace her boddice. "But oh, Margaret, Aunt Jem did hurt me so! I could not help crying out! You don't think it was my fault that mamma fell down-stairs, do you?" I told her no—that she was not to blame in the least; and indeed I could not feel that she was. "How is mamma? Is she dying?" asked Betty. "O no!" I answered, as cheerfully as I could. "I think perhaps she will be quite well in the morning, if she is not disturbed to-night. She is troubled about you, and I want to carry back a good account of you." Betty was all docility in a minute, and let me undress her and rub her back and shoulders. "Does it hurt you, now?" I asked. "Not so 'very' much," she answered, with a strong emphasis on the "very." "Not so very much, when I am quite still. Tell mamma so, please." "You shall go to bed now, and I will sit with you while Mary brings your supper," said I. And I made her a sign to make haste, for I was on thorns to get back to my Lady. When I had seen Betty comfortable, I went back again to my Lady's room. By this time it was quite dark—the wind was blowing, and the rain dashing against the windows, and it promised to be a wild night. I found Mrs. Judith had sent man and horse after the doctor and nurse: "For though my Lady seems quiet enough just now, my dear, we shall want help before morning, I am sure. I only wish my Lord had left us Roger, instead of Harry Andrews." I wished so too, for Harry was young, and not over steady, and besides he was brother to Tom Andrews, which was enough to set me against him. I could not help wondering at my Lord, knowing as he did what was like to happen at any time, and said so. "Oh, there's no use in expecting any sense in 'men!'" said Mrs. Judith, with decision. "They are all alike in those matters, my dear. An ounce of trouble for themselves outweighs a pound for anybody else." "Not with all men, I think!" said I, remembering my dear father. "What time ought Harry to be back?" "By eight o'clock, at farthest." "And when ought we to expect my Lord?" I asked. Mrs. Judith looked grave. "Not to-night, I am afraid: or at least not till late. They will sup with Sir Thomas Fulton, and most likely stay all night, as it is such a storm." Eight o'clock came, and half-past eight, but no Harry, and no doctor. My Lady began to grow worse very fast, and by half-past nine she was in convulsions. Mrs. Brewster lost her head entirely, and could do nothing but cry. And Mrs. Judith was terribly flurried, and evidently quite at her wits' end.