"And I wanted a boy so much!" the young mother exclaimed, with a sigh; then, rallying from her disappointment: "But never mind, nurse; better luck next time. And, after all, it is perfectly lovely to have twin girls! They always create a sensation wherever they go. And I mean to give them such fancy names! Guess, nurse." "Mary and Marthy, maybe, honey." "Pshaw!" disgustedly. "Nothing of the kind! Wait--don't take the darlings away yet." "But you am talkin' too much, missie." "I'll be quiet in a minute. Look, nurse"--she put out a beautiful white hand and touched each of the babes in turn--"this dark one I'll name Jewel, this blue-eyed one Flower." "Redikilous! I don't belebe dat Massa Charlie will 'low it," muttered the old woman; and Mrs. Fielding's eyes flashed angrily. "I shall do as I please with my own babies!" she cried, imperiously. "All right, honey. In course you'll do as you please--you al'ays does," was the soothing response; and then the old woman carried the twins back to their crib, adding, wisely: "'Tis a good sign to see sick people cross--dey's 'most sure to git well. Guess I'll ring de bell and hab some gruel fotched up fo' her." But, in the very act of ringing the bell, her hand dropped to her side, her dark face turned ashen, and a groan forced its way through her lips. A dreadful sound had broken the stillness of the sick-chamber--the low, muffled toll of the Tillage church-bell, telling of an impending funeral. The beautiful dark face on the pillow lost its proud smile in a minute, and grew pale with awe. "Who is dead?" she asked, with a little shiver; but old Maria did not answer for a moment, and again that low, muffled toll of the bell struck heavily upon the silence of the room. Mrs. Fielding repeated her question a little impatiently, adding, wonderingly: "I did not know that any one was sick in the village." "I--I--must fotch your gruel, ma'am," cried old Maria; and she waddled precipitately out of the room, leaving Mrs. Fielding very much puzzled over her old servant's deafness. She lay silent on her pillow, counting those dull, muffled strokes curiously, and thinking to herself: "They might have been for me. Oh, how glad I am that my trouble is over and I am still alive!" The bell had ceased to toll when Maria came back, with that ashen look still on her face, carrying the bowl of gruel somewhat unsteadily. Mrs. Fielding waited until she finished her light repast, then said: "I counted the strokes, Maria, and there were just nineteen. So it is a young person whom they are going to bury. Now, tell me at once who it is; you need not be afraid of agitating me. Even if it is one of my friends, I will bear it calmly." "Ay, Lord!" muttered the old nurse, with a grimace hidden behind her hand. Then she gave Mrs. Fielding a strange look. "Ma'am, it's none o' your friends at all, ma'am--only a poor young gal by the name o' Daisy Forrest."