When Patty came within half a mile of the cottage in which her father lived, she met Hannah, the faithful servant, who had never deserted the family in their misfortunes; she had been watching all the morning on the road for the first sight of Patty, but when she saw her, and came quite close up to her, she had no power to speak; and Patty was so much terrified that she could not ask her a single question. She walked her horse a slow pace, and kept silence. “Won’t you go on, ma’am?” said Hannah at last, forcing herself to speak. “Won’t you go on a bit faster? He’s almost wild to see you.” “He is alive then!” cried Patty. The horse was in full gallop directly, and she was soon at her father’s door. James and Frank were there watching for her: they lifted her from the horse; and feeling that she trembled so much as to be scarcely able to stand, they would have detained her a little while in the air; but she passed or rather rushed into the room where her brother lay. He took no notice of her when she came in, for he was insensible. Fanny was supporting his head; she held out her hand to Patty, who went on tiptoe to the side of the bed. “Is he asleep?” whispered she. “Not asleep, but--He’ll come to himself presently,” continued Fanny, “and he will be very, very glad you are come; and so will my father.” “Where is my father?” said Patty; “I don’t see him.” Fanny pointed to the farthest end of the room, where he was kneeling at his devotion. The shutters being half closed, she could but just see the faint beam which shone upon his grey hairs. He rose, came to his daughter Patty, with an air of resigned grief, and taking her hand between both of his, said, “My love--we must lose him--God’s will be done!” “Oh! there is hope, there is hope still!” said Patty. “See! the colour is coming back to his lips again; his eyes open! Oh! George, dear George, dear brother! It is your own sister Patty: don’t you know Patty?” “Patty!--Yes. Why does she not come to me? I would go to her if I could,” said the sufferer, without knowing what he talked of. “Is not she come yet? Send another horse, Frank. Why, it is only six miles. Six miles in three hours, that is--how many miles an hour? ten miles, is it? Don’t hurry her--don’t tell her I’m so bad; nor my father--don’t let him see me, nor James, nor Frank, nor pretty Fanny, nor any body--they are all too good to me: I only wished to see poor Patty once before I die; but don’t frighten her--I shall be very well, tell her--quite well, by the time she comes.”