A few questions he asked to avoid being questioned himself; a few remedies he tried, to appease the mother's heart, whose mournful eyes were on him like a spell. "Water," said Daisy, faintly, as she languidly opened her eyes. "God be thanked," said Ruth, overcome by the sound of that blessed little voice, which she never expected to hear again, "God be thanked." The young doctor returned no answering smile, as Ruth and Harry grasped his hand; but he walked to the little window and looked out upon the gray dawn, with a heavy sigh, as the first faint streak of light ushered in the new-born day. Still the fire-light flashed and flickered--now upon the old doctor, who had fallen asleep in his arm chair; now upon Ruth's bowed head; now upon Daisy, who lay motionless in her mother's lap, (the deadly paleness of her countenance rendered still more fearful by the dark blood-stains on her night dress;) then upon Harry, who, kneeling at Daisy's side, and stifling his own strong heart, gazed alternately at mother and child; then upon Dinah, who, with folded arms, stood like some grim sentinel, in the shadow of the farther corner; the little mantle clock, meanwhile, ticking, ticking on--numbering the passing moments with startling distinctness. Oh, in such an hour, when wave after wave of anguish dashes over us, where are the infidel's boasted doubts, as the tortured heart cries out, instinctively, "save, Lord; or we perish!" Slowly the night waned, and the stars paled. Up the gray east the golden sun slowly glided. One beam penetrated the little window, hovering like a halo over Daisy's sunny head. A quick, convulsive start, and with one wild cry (as the little throat filled to suffocation), the fair white arms were tossed aloft, then dropped powerless upon the bed of Death! CHAPTER XXIII. "There can be no sorrow greater than this sorrow," sobbed Ruth, as the heavy sod fell on Daisy's little breast. In after years, when bitterer cups had been drained to the dregs, Ruth remembered these, her murmuring words. Ah! mourning mother! He who seeth the end from the beginning, even in this blow "remembered mercy." * * * * * "Your daughter-in-law is quite crushed by her affliction, I hear," said a neighbor to old Mrs. Hall. "Yes, Mrs. Jones, I think she is," said the old lady complacently. "It has taken right hold of her." "It died of croup, I believe," said Mrs. Jones. "Well, they _say_ so," said the old lady. "It is _my_ opinion the child's death was owing to the thriftlessness of the mother. I don't mourn for it, because I believe the poor thing is better off." "You surprise me," said Mrs. Jones. "I always had the impression that young Mrs. Hall was a pattern mother." "People differ," said the old lady, raising her eyebrows, compressing her lips, and looking mysteriously at the ceiling, as if she _could_ tell a tale, were she not too charitable.