Mr. Hamilton slept apparently in perfect peace. Madeline watched him with untiring patience and hope. Whenever he stirred, she was directed to administer, in small doses, the stimulants that were ordered by the surgeons. "What is the danger?" inquired Madeline; "he seems so quiet." "The want of reaction; sinking of the vital powers, my dear young lady." "Is there any reaction yet?" asked she, with a trembling voice. "None whatever," replied the surgeon, as he sat holding the pulse--"but it may come yet; there is a great difference in constitution." Mr. Hamilton was evidently in a state of insensibility, which Madeline mistook for sleep. "You had better administer the wine, my dear," was the surgeon's direction. "Will it not disturb his sleep, sir?" "Not at all, my dear child." And Madeline from time to time offered a tea-spoonful of wine to the exhausted man, only a part of which he appeared to swallow. Hours rolled on--Roland saw the quiet agony of the devoted daughter, as no symptoms for the better appeared. "Shall I take your place, Madeline, for a few minutes?" whispered Roland, as he beckoned to Mr. Graham to lead her to an open window; and while she stood there, leaning upon the shoulder of this good man, Roland continued watching, and dripping the wine drop by drop. Mr. Graham whispered--"Luik unto the Rock that is higher than we, dear Miss Hamilton," for he saw what was approaching. "There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother; trust him, my dear young friend;" and while she leaned so confidingly upon the strong man, he whispered earnest words of fervent prayer for the dear father stretched upon that bed of languishing, and for her so soon to be bereaved, that she was comforted and strengthened. "Take me back to my father's side, Mr. Graham. I must not leave him." The twelve hours had passed--no signs of returning consciousness had yet appeared. The surgeon beckoned to Malcolm Graham to come into the next room. "It is all over, sir--there is scarcely any pulse--he may recover consciousness, but he is passing away. God help the daughter; you must prepare her." Madeline had seen the signal. "Let me go, Roland; I must know the worst;" and hastily she followed Mr. Graham. He was standing by the side of the mantel-piece, with his head bowed upon his hands, and strong emotion was shaking his frame. He perceived Madeline. Taking her by the hand, he led her kindly to the couch--they were alone. Placing his fatherly arm around her, he said with a caressing voice, "Lean on me, my child;" and he tenderly smoothed the soft brown hair, that lay dishevelled around her face. "God is trying ye, my dear; ye hae lately given yoursel' to him; ye and yer dear father. He is going to tak' him first; can ye say, 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken awa', blessed be the name o' the Lord?'"