"Oh, that I can't tell; that depends entirely on circumstances--perhaps longer, perhaps shorter. But now, Miss Ellen, I've got a word of business to say to you. You know you agreed to be my little nurse. Mrs. Nurse, this lady whom I put under your care the other day, isn't quite as well as she ought to be this morning; I am afraid you haven't taken proper care of her; she looks to me as if she had been too much excited. I've a notion she has been secretly taking half a bottle of wine, or reading some furious kind of a novel, or something of that sort--you understand? Now mind, Mrs. Nurse," said the doctor, changing his tone, "she _must not_ be excited--you must take care that she is not--it isn't good for her. You mustn't let her talk much, or laugh much, or cry at all, on any account; she mustn't be worried in the least--will you remember? Now you know what I shall expect of you; you must be very careful--if that piece of toast of yours should chance to get burned, one of these fine evenings, I won't answer for the consequences. Good-bye," said he, shaking Ellen's hand, "you needn't look sober about it; all you have to do is to let your mamma be as much like an oyster as possible--you understand? Good-bye." And Dr. Green took his leave. "Poor woman!" said the doctor to himself as he went down stairs (he was a humane man). "I wonder if she'll live till she gets to the other side! That's a nice little girl, too. Poor child! poor child!" Both mother and daughter silently acknowledged the justice of the doctor's advice, and determined to follow it. By common consent, as it seemed, each for several days avoided bringing the subject of sorrow to the other's mind, though no doubt it was constantly present to both. It was not spoken of--indeed, little of any kind was spoken of, but that never. Mrs. Montgomery was doubtless employed during this interval in preparing for what she believed was before her; endeavouring to resign herself and her child to Him in whose hands they were, and struggling to withdraw her affections from a world which she had a secret misgiving she was fast leaving. As for Ellen, the doctor's warning had served to strengthen the resolve she had already made, that she would not distress her mother with the sight of her sorrow; and she kept it, as far as she could. She let her mother see but very few tears, and those were quiet ones; though she drooped her head like a withered flower, and went about the house with an air of submissive sadness that tried her mother sorely. But when she was alone, and knew no one could see, sorrow had its way; and then there were sometimes agonies of grief that would almost have broken Mrs. Montgomery's resolution had she known them.