Lady Anne readily consented, for by this time her fever was sensibly high, her cough bad, her limbs weary; and Georgiana and Fanchette were ordered to put her to bed.
Lady Anne could not sleep, therefore they could not talk; and, in a short time, she ordered Georgiana to her own room till five, when she would be called up to relieve Helen, who happily did, after a while, recal somewhat of that sweet emotion she blamed herself for indulging.
She paced slowly up and down the room, now renewing the fire, now moistening the parched lips of her mother, or gently raising her head when the cough was troublesome, but not speaking unless she was called for. By degrees the hectic heat subsided, the irritation abated, and the patient sunk into short snatches of sleep, each of which promised to be lasting. Helen gazed long upon her with tears in her eyes, and those hopes mustering at her heart which so naturally belong to the inexperienced. At length she sunk on her knees, and became absorbed in devout and ardent prayer for her suffering mother—it was the humble petition of a deeply affected heart, and, perhaps, some sounds escaped her lips unknown to her in the earnestness and anguish of the moment, for Lady Anne became awake, shook herself, and said, "Where are you, Helen?"
