“I doubt it, sir,” said Dalton, gravely; “not thanking you the less for your kindness. I believe, like my poor country, that I 'm past doctoring.” He paused for a few seconds, and then added: “It's all fretting. It's thinking about the girls. Frank there is no fear of. That 's what ails me.” Grounsell saw that to prolong his visit would be but to encourage a tone of depression that must prove injurious; so promising to return to see him in the morning, he shook Dalton's hand cordially, and followed Hans into the adjoining room, where writing materials were prepared for him. The two girls were standing at the fire as he entered; and simple as was their dress, homely even to poverty, every trait of their costume, their looks, bespoke them of gentle blood. Their anxious glances as he came forward showed their eagerness to hear his tidings; but they did not speak a word. “Do not be uneasy, young ladies,” said he, hastening to relieve their fears. “Your father's illness has nothing serious about it. A few days will, I trust, see him perfectly restored to health. Meanwhile you are his best physicians, who can minister to his spirits and cheer him up.” “Since my brother left us, sir, he appeared to sink hour by hour; he cannot get over the shock,” said Ellen. “I never knew him to give way before,” interposed Kate. “He used to say, when anything grieved him, 'he 'd pay some one to fret for him.” “With better health you 'll see his old courage return,” said the doctor, as he hastily wrote a few lines of prescription, and then laying his head in his hand, seemed for some minutes lost in thought. There were little comforts, mat-' ters of trifling luxury he wished to order, and yet he hesitated, for he did not know how far they were compatible with their means; nor could he venture upon the hazard of offending by questioning them. As in his uncertainty he raised his eyes, they fell upon the wooden figure which the dwarf had exhibited in the apothecary's shop, and which now stood upon a table near. It was a child sleeping at the foot of a cross, around which its arms were entwined. The emaciated limbs and wasted cheek portrayed fasting and exhaustion, while in the attitude itself, sleep seemed verging upon death. “What is that?” asked he, hastily, as he pointed with his pen to the object. “A poor child was found thus, frozen to death upon the Arlberg,” said Kate; “and my sister carved that figure from a description of the event.” “Your sister! This was done by you,” said Grounsell, slowly, as he turned his gaze from the work to the artist. “Yes,” cried Hans, whose face beamed with delight; “is it not 'lieblich?' is it not vonderful? Dass, I say, alway; none have taste now none have de love to admire!”