ot have delayed had Arthur been alone; but since John was
there, he thought their sudden arrival might be more encumbering than
consoling, and decided to wait for a further account, and finish affairs
that he could not easily leave.

Theodora believed no one but herself could comfort Arthur, and was
exceedingly vexed. She chafed against her father for attending to his
business--against her mother for thinking of John; and was in charity
with no one except Miss Piper, who came out of Mrs. Nesbit's room red
with swallowing down tears, and with the under lady's-maid, who could
not help begging to hear if Mrs. Martindale was so ill, for Miss
Standaloft said, 'My lady had been so nervous and hysterical in her own
room, that she had been forced to give her camphor and sal volatile.'

Never had Theodora been more surprised than to hear this of the mother
whom she only knew as calm, majestic, and impassible. With a sudden
impulse, she hastened to her room. She was with Mrs. Nesbit, and
Theodora following, found her reading aloud, without a trace of emotion.
No doubt it was a figment of Miss Standaloft, and there was a sidelong
glance of satisfaction in her aunt's eyes, which made Theodora so
indignant, that she was obliged to retreat without a word.

Her own regret and compassion for so young a creature thus cut off
were warm and keen, especially when the next post brought a new and
delightful hope, the infant, of whose life John had yesterday despaired,
was said to be improving. Arthur's child! Here was a possession for
Theodora, an object for the affections so long yearning for something
to love. She would bring it home, watch over it, educate it, be all the
world to Arthur, doubly so for his son's sake. She dreamt of putting his
child into his arms, and bidding him live for it, and awoke clasping the
pillow!

What were her feelings when she heard Violet was out of danger? For
humanity's sake and for Arthur's, she rejoiced; but it was the downfall
of a noble edifice. 'How that silly young mother would spoil the poor
child!'

'My brothers' had always been mentioned in Theodora's prayer, from
infancy. It was the plural number, but the strength and fervency of
petition were reserved for one; and with him she now joined the name
of his child. But how pray for the son without the mother? It was
positively a struggle; for Theodora had a horror of mockery and
formality; but the duty was too clear, the evil which made it
distas