It could not have been more than half-an-hour afterwards that she and Mrs. Seymour were coming down together, and Meg had just reached the bottom step at her own landing, when a man's voice was heard asking in a loud voice as he came up-- "Does any one live here belonging to a man of the name of Seymour?" "Yes," answered Meg and her mother both together. "Because he's been run over near the Monument, and they've taken him to 'Guy's.'" Meg gave one wild look at her mother, held out her arms to catch something, and fell fainting on the floor. * * * * * Towards afternoon Meg opened her eyes at the sound of a beloved voice. "My girl," he said, "don't ye know me? Look up, sweetheart! Here's Jem. And look what we've got sent us from our God! Meg, my girl, it was not your Jem as was hurt." Meg gave a faint smile, and then she saw her mother-in-law bending over her, and putting into Jem's hand a spoon with something to give her. She allowed him to feed her, and when the cup was empty she whispered-- "Jem, I thought----" "You must not talk, my little woman; but now you're a bit better, would you like to see our little child? He was sent to us while you were so ill." Meg tried to hold out her arms, but failed, and her mother-in-law laid a little babe in them. Meg said not a word, but pressed a kiss upon Jem's hand, and endeavoured to reach the downy little head. But she had no strength, and Mrs. Seymour, seeing her wish, and knowing too something else which neither of them guessed, raised the babe a little, that its mother's lips might touch its tiny face. Meg was satisfied, and closed her eyes to sleep. "Husband and child," she thought, "who could be richer?" And then another thought came to rest her with its sweetness--"Who for your sakes became poor, that ye, through His poverty, might be rich." Meg's lips moved, and Jem bent over her to hear. "We'll teach him about Jesus first of all, Jem," she murmured; and as Jem assented, she slept. But the little one was to be taken into the Shepherd's care at once. Meg was never to have her desire of herself teaching him the name she loved beyond all others. Mrs. Seymour stood by and watched, unwilling to break the slumber which was like life to Meg, and knowing that nothing could be done for the babe better than lying in its mother's bosom. And Jem sat watching too, realizing in a dim sort of way that he was indeed a father. By-and-by his mother touched him on the shoulder. "Jem," she whispered, cautioning him by a warning glance, "God is taking the little one to Himself; but I think Meg will do well if we can but keep her quiet." Jem gave one look at her to take in the meaning of her words, and then he sat still, trying to realize and submit to what his God was sending.