There she found her father alone, drinking a cup of tea. How altered he looked. Nellie hardly dared to glance at him, but came forward, and sat down at the table. "I told nurse to take your place, dear, for a few minutes, that I might speak to you," said her father. Nellie was going to ask him a question about it; but now that the urgent need for calmness was removed her strong command over herself gave way, and throwing herself into her father's arms she wept as if her heart would break. He did nothing to check her; only pressed her closely to him, and whispered from time to time "Poor Nellie; poor little daughter; poor little dear," over and over again. At last the violence of her grief subsided, and she remembered her father's share in this sorrow. She raised herself, and began wiping away her tears. "Tell me all," she said at last. "It was a fright," answered her father, "which developed the disease which I feared existed; a shock. They were carrying little Tom downstairs, and one of his bearers slipped. It was only a stumble; but just enough to make a commotion, and to cause Tom to give a half-scream. She seemed to bear it pretty well for an hour or two, and then—" Dr. Arundel paused. "When was it? When did this happen?" "Three days ago. I wrote at once to your grandmamma; but I had no time to explain then. I have written again since." "Could nothing be done?" asked Nellie, looking hopelessly up in her father's face, and knowing her question was vain, even while she put it. "Nothing more than has been done, dear child. Two physicians have been to see her; but they both know that the heart is in a very critical state." "Dear papa," said Nellie, hesitating, and laying her head once more on his shoulder, "we still can pray. Perhaps it may be God's will to hear us." "Yes, my dear, I do pray, and I know He answers. He is not far off, Nellie; not far off, my child, but very, very near; so near, that I feel His love, and am sure—" "Sure?" she whispered, questioningly. "That He will be with us even unto the end." Nellie's head nestled closer to the beloved breast; but she could say no more. In presence of that faith, and in anticipation of that sorrow, no words of hers could be adequate. At last her father stooped and kissed her fondly. "I must go up now, Nellie. Nurse Raymond will sit up part of the night; but I shall be with her for the present." "Could not I sit up? I should like to so much." "No, dear; your strength will be needed for the care of the house. We must have all things as straight as we can, if for nothing else, than that she may know it is so." Nellie was too downcast to do anything but acquiesce; indeed, she knew what her father said was right. She could not do everything, and there was wisdom in saving herself for greater duties.