Meanwhile, poor mamma lay quite still; but her face was very cold. And once, when Arbell softly wiped the damp off it, and kissed her white lips, she whispered, “Good girl—dear Arbell!” so that she was ready to burst into tears, but knew she must not. And when the guide came back, he said the English doctor had gone up Mont Blanc; and Arbell could not help thinking, how stupid and wicked it was of him, to be running after such nonsense when he had better have been minding his own business. However, he brought back mamma’s maid, Kent, and a famous mountain doctor, who ordered a sheep to be killed, and mamma to be immediately wrapped in its skin, which they did. And, directly afterwards, a most benevolent-looking _pasteur_ (such another as Oberlin must have been!) came in, with a face of kind concern; and, after a few words with papa, it was arranged that the guides should carry mamma, who seemed in a stupor, to the _pasteur’s_ house, which was close at hand, and much quieter than the inn. So they did so; Arbell holding her vinaigrette to mamma’s nose all the way, though she could not be quite sure it was of any use. When they got there, such a neat old housekeeper came out, quite a Louise Schepler; for the _pasteur_, like Oberlin, was a widower. But he had no children, which was all the better, because the house was all the quieter. So they took dear mamma into the best bed-room, where everything was very poor and scanty, but very clean; and just then, the English doctor arrived, who had only gone a little way up the mountain after all, and, strange to say! had turned back under an unaccountable impression that he was wanted. And he said, as mamma was in the skin, she might as well remain in it, though it was queer practice; and then he gave her a very strong restorative from the _pasteur’s_ medicine-chest, which made her open her eyes and look slowly round, without turning her head; and then he said “You’ll do, my dear madam, now;” and nodded and smiled, and went off talking to papa quite cheerfully. But, oh! he was quite mistaken; for, as soon as the effect of the restorative subsided, mamma felt herself rapidly sinking, and told papa she knew she was going to die. Then poor papa, who had returned quite hopeful, lost all his courage again, and cried bitterly; and called the _pasteur_, who came in, and knelt down, and offered, oh! such a heavenly prayer! Even Kent, who understood not one word of it, said the very _tone_ was prayer. He began “_Seigneur!_”—and then made a great stop—and then began again, “Seigneur! Holy and just are all thy ways! Who shall not magnify thee, O God most holy?” And then went on. Arbell’s head was too confused for her to retain it in her memory, but it sank into her heart, and seemed to carry her up to heaven, quite away from all earthly, vexing cares. And when they rose from their knees, dear mamma was asleep, and slept for hours! Meanwhile, papa got some very strong jelly from the inn, and when she woke, he or