hold of Mrs. Williams' humble little
abode. Mr. Everard was coming out.

"Hester," he said, "you here? I was coming for you."

"Oh, then she is worse?"

"She is conscious, and has asked for you. Yes, she is very, very ill."

"Mr. Everard, this gentleman is Annie's father."

Mr. Everard looked pityingly at Captain Forest.

"You have come back at a sad hour, sir," he said. "But no, it cannot harm
her to see you. Come with me."

Captain Forest went first into the sick-room; Hester waited outside. She
had the little kitchen to herself, for all the Williamses, with the
exception of the good mother, had moved for the time being to other
quarters. Surely Mr. Everard would come for her in a moment? Surely
Captain Forest, who had gone into the sick-room with Nan in his arms,
would quickly return? There was no sound. All was absolute quiet. How
soon would Hester be summoned? Could she--could she bear to look at
Annie's dying face? Her agony drove her down on her knees.

"Oh, if you would only spare Annie!" she prayed to God. Then she wiped
her eyes. This terrible suspense seemed more than she could bear.
Suddenly the bedroom door was softly and silently opened, and Mr. Everard
came out.

"She sleeps," he said; "there is a shadow of hope. Little Nan has done
it. Nan asked to lie down beside her, and she said, 'Poor Annie! poor
Annie!' and stroked her cheek; and in some way, I don't know how, the two
have gone to sleep together. Annie did not even glance at her father; she
was quite taken up with Nan. You can come to the door and look at her,
Hester."

Hester did so. A time had been when she could scarcely have borne that
sight without a pang of jealousy; now she turned to Mr. Everard:

"I--I could even give her the heart of little Nan to keep her here," she
murmured.

CHAPTER LI.

THE PRIZE ESSAY.

Annie did not die. The fever passed away in that long and refreshing
sleep, while Nan's cool hand lay against her cheek. She came slowly,
slowly back to life--to a fresh, a new, and a glad life. Hester, from
being her enemy, was now her dearest and warmest friend. Her father was
at home again, and she could no longer think or speak of herself as
lonely or sad. She recovered, and in future days reigned as a greater
favorite than ever at Lavender House. It is only fair to say that Tiger
never went back to the gypsies, but devoted himself first and foremost to
Annie, and then to the captain, who pronounced him a c