from freezing. My gray travelling dress is the first tiling I put my hand to, and strip it into narrow ribbons, to tuck into the cracks about her bed. The excitement again gives vent to itself in mutterings, and broken words, waking me again to a sense of pain and sickness. Now reason comes back to me; and close to it, for a moment, I hear the flapping of the wings of despair. The hub of the wheel is broken, what will they do without me?
It is daylight. Mr. —— has just closed the door softly after him, and gone home to get a nap, after his night's watching. In the rocking-chair sits the good Lieutenant, sipping a cup of tea. Again the door opens, and Edward comes in with the milk. I lift the corner of my curtain and look over to see how the sick man is. He, too, is sipping tea. I'm sure he must be better. It makes me better to think he is. The quick ears of the Lieutenant hear me; he bobs his curling hair up above the chair, turns his honest, cheerful face round to me. "Tell me how many children you have," I asked. I believe he thought me out of my senses. But he answered me truly "Four." "Then you can have no objections
