oughly wet, even to the skin; to hide
this, she put her pinafore on to go down to tea. When she came down,
"Where have you been, Emily?" said Mrs. Fairchild; "we have almost done
tea."

"I have been playing with the cat upstairs, mamma," said Emily. But
when she told this sad untruth she felt very unhappy, and her
complexion changed once or twice from red to pale.

It was a cold evening, and Emily kept as much away from the fire and
candle as she could, lest any spots should be left in her frock, and
her mother should see them. She had no opportunity, therefore, of
drying or warming herself, and she soon began to feel quite chilled and
trembling. Soon after a burning heat came into the palms of her hands,
and a soreness about her throat; however, she did not dare to complain,
but sat till bedtime, getting every minute more and more uncomfortable.

It was some time after she was in bed, and even after her parents came
to bed, before she could sleep; at last she fell asleep, but her sleep
was disturbed by dreadful dreams, such as she had never experienced
before. It was her troubled conscience, together with an uneasy body,
which gave her these dreadful dreams; and so horrible were they, that
at length she awoke, screaming violently. Her parents heard her cry,
and came running in to her, bringing a light; but she was in such a
terror that at first she did not know them.

"Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Fairchild, "this child is in a burning fever!
Only feel her hands!"

It was true, indeed; and when Mr. Fairchild felt her, he was so much
frightened that he resolved to watch by her all night, and in the
morning, as soon as it was light, to send John for the doctor. But what
do you suppose Emily felt all this time, knowing, as she did, how she
had brought on this illness, and how she had deceived for many days
this dear father and mother, who now gave up their own rest to attend
her?

Emily continued to get worse during the night: neither was the doctor
able, when he came, to stop the fever which followed the severe chill
she had taken, though he did his uttermost. It would have grieved you
to have seen poor Lucy and Henry. They could neither read nor play,
they missed their dear sister so much. They continually said to each
other, "Oh, Emily! dear Emily! there is no pleasure without our dear
Emily!"

The next day, when the doctor came, Emily was so very ill that he
thought it right that Lucy and Henry should be sent out