"It is true; and it is not the first time," returned Queenie. "If she dies, Miss Titheridge, her death will lie at your door as well as Fraulein's; if she die, look to yourselves, for I will have justice, if there is justice in England. All Carlisle shall know how you have treated the child committed to your care. As to that woman," pointing with her finger to Fraulein, who now looked on in stupid terror at this scene, "she will live to rue this day if Emmie dies." "Hush, hush, my dear Miss Marriott; be calm and reasonable, I entreat you." Miss Titheridge had turned very pale, she was quite cowed by the girl's fierce despair. There was a wild, strange light in Queenie's eyes as she faced them, as she hurled words of righteous wrath at the shrinking women. "My dear Miss Marriott, I am more grieved than I can say. I will do what you like. Send for a doctor; do what you please; only be calm." "Calm!" repeated Queenie, in a voice of such utter heartbreak that tears positively came to Miss Titheridge's hard eyes. "Yes; send for a doctor; do something all of you," implored Cathy; but as one or two of the girls stepped up timidly with proffers of assistance Queenie waved them fiercely away. "No; you none of you loved her; you shall not touch her. Give her to me. Come with me, Cathy;" and as Cathy obeyed her wondering, Queenie led the way to Cathy's room, and laid her on Cathy's bed. "Shut them all out; I will have no one but you," she had said to her friend. When the doctor arrived he found the two girls trying vainly to restore animation to the child. He shook his head very gravely when Cathy told him all, for Queenie never spoke again during that dreadful night. "This is a sad case," he said at last, after a careful examination. "When she wakes up I fear she will not know you; brain fever is the least we can expect from such a shock. Acute terror on an exhausted system often leads to very sad results, especially with nervous children." But though he spoke in a low tone, Queenie heard him. CHAPTER VIII. DARK DAYS. "Cometh sunshine after rain; After mourning joy again; After heavy, bitter grief Dawneth surely sweet relief! And my soul, who from her height Sunk to realms of woe and night, Wingeth now to heaven her flight." _Lyra Germanica._ Emmie did not die, neither were her physician's worst fears verified; but for many a long week the frail existence hovered between life and death. When the lethargy had passed a long season of delirium intervened, and every symptom of severe brain fever manifested itself. For weeks the little sufferer failed to recognize the loving faces that bent over her. Caleb Runciman spent most of his leisure hours beside the bedside, holding the hand of his little favorite, and gazing sorrowfully at the thin flushed face tossing so restlessly on the pillow.