As yet, there had been no cases in W——, but the people were in daily dread of its arrival, and a feeling of gloom pervaded the village. Mrs. Lansing, on the contrary, though usually alarmed, even at the mention of a contagious disease, expressed no fear, and went on with the preparations for the party, unconscious of the dark cloud hovering near. But when on the morning succeeding the night of which we have spoken, she heard, in passing Rosa’s door the sound of some one talking incoherently, while at the same time a negro girl came rushing out, exclaiming, “The Lord help us—young Miss has now got the brain fever, and gone ravin’ mad,” she fled in wild alarm to the farthest extremity of the building, and gathering her frightened children together, with Ada, around her, she called to the terrified servants from the window, bidding them go for her brother and tell him as he valued his life not to venture near the infected room, but to hasten with all speed to her. And there, trembling, weeping, and wringing her hands in fear, the selfish, cold-hearted woman stayed, while parched with fever and thirst, the suffering girl lay moaning in her pain; now asking for water to cool her burning brain, and again clasping her thin, white hands convulsively upon her brow, as if to still its agonized throbbings. But one there was who did not forget. In her excitement Mrs. Lansing failed to notice the absence of little Jessie, who going fearlessly to the bedside of her beloved teacher, gently bathed the aching head, and administered the cooling draught, while with childish love she kissed the ashen lips, and smoothed back the long tresses which floated over the pillow. In the hall below there was the sound of footsteps, and the bridegroom’s voice was heard, asking for his bride, but his cheek blanched to a marble whiteness when told that she was dying in the chamber above. In a moment he had her in his arms—his precious Rose—dying—dying—he believed, for he, too, had heard of the strange disease, and he thought there was no hope. With a bitter cry, he bent over the unconscious girl, who knew him not, for the light of reason was obscured and darkness was upon her vision. “_Can_ nothing be done? Is there no help?” he exclaimed wildly, and little Jessie, awed by his grief, answered, as she laid her soft, white hand on Rosa’s forehead, “_God can help her_, and maybe Uncle Dick can. I mean to go for him,” and gliding noiselessly from the room, she was soon on her way to Sunny Bank, looking, with her golden curls floating over her bare white shoulders, as is she were indeed an angel of mercy. * * * * *