"Rose, you are not to reflect on Charlotte, or on anything she chooses to do," sharply reproved Mrs. Darling. "If she considers constant change necessary for the child, she is right in giving it him. I hope we shall find him better than we anticipate." Rose shrugged her shoulders---the retort for the reproof. "I'm sure _I_ hope we shall find him well, poor little fellow. My firm belief is, that Charlotte worries herself with straws--she's afraid for her own sake of losing Alnwick." And Mrs. Darling replied by a deprecating gesture. Rose always would have the last word, and always did have it. But ah! how false were these hopes. Charlotte St. John arrived at Belport; and from the first moment that Mrs. Darling threw her eyes upon the child, she saw that his days were numbered. There was no particular disease; neither had there been any in the case of his father; he was simply wasting gradually away; almost imperceptibly so to those who were about him. "Oh, Charlotte! how thin and worn he looks. He is like a shadow." Mrs. Darling's incautious greeting broke from her in the first startled moment. He _was_ like a shadow; like nothing else. His face was wan and thin, his cheeks and his blue eyes were unnaturally bright, his little hands were transparent, and his fair and pretty curls looked damp and dead. "It is because he is tired," said Charlotte. "He will be all right tomorrow." Was she really deceived as to the truth, or did she but wilfully deceive herself? Mrs. Darling thought it was the former; she had not yet admitted to herself the possibility--not yet _seen_ it--of the boy's death. _She_ was changed, if you will; changed even more than George; her beautiful cheeks were haggard and crimson, her eyes had a wasting fire in them. She was quite well, she said; and so far as bodily health went, there might be no reason to doubt the assertion. Her disease lay in the mind. The meeting took place at the Hôtel du Nord, for Mrs. St. John declined to accept of her mother's hospitality, even could space have been found in that lady's apartments for their accommodation. Rose had accompanied her mother to the hotel: Mrs. Darling was ever indulgent to Rose over the other two sisters. "Do you know who I am?" cried Rose, lifting the little boy upon her knee; and so fragile did he seem, that a tremor ran through her, lest he should fall to pieces. "I have never, never seen you, George; do you know my name?" George looked up at the smiling face; he raised his poor little weak hand, and pushed away the blue ribbons of her pretty bonnet from her chin; he touched the golden hair. "No, I don't know you," he said. "Of course not," returned Rose, in resentment. "Charlotte--your mamma would not talk to you about me, I suppose? I am your Aunt Rose, Georgy; your mamma's sister." "Will you come along with us when we go away?" he asked, much taken with his new aunt. "I wish you would."