gaining their chamber. The sight that met
his eyes sent the blood coldly to his heart. The mother had already
snatched the child from the crib in which she had left her, and was
standing with her close to the lamp, the light from which fell strongly
upon her infantile face, that was fearfully distorted. The eyes were
open and rolled up, until the entire pupil was hidden. The lips were
white with their firm compression; and yet they had a quick nervous
motion.

"Oh, John! John! what is the matter?" cried Mrs. Wilkinson, as she
looked first upon the face of her child, and then into that of her
husband, with a most anxious and imploring glance. "Is she dying?"

"No, dear, I think not," returned Wilkinson, with a composure of voice
that belied the agitation of his feelings.

"Oh! what is the matter? Yes! Yes! I'm sure she's dying. Oh! run quick!
quick! for the doctor."

"First," said Wilkinson, who was becoming, every moment, more
self-possessed, and who now saw that the child, who was teething, had
been thrown into spasms, "let us do what we can for her. She is in
convulsions, and we must get her into a bath of hot water as quickly as
possible. I will call up Anna. Don't be alarmed," he added, in a
soothing voice: "there is no immediate danger."

"Are you sure, John? Are you sure? Oh! I'm afraid she is dying! My
precious, precious babe!" And the mother clasped her child passionately
to her bosom.

In the course of ten or fifteen minutes, a vessel of hot water was
ready, and into this the still writhing form of the convulsed child was
placed. Then Wilkinson hurried off for their physician. Half an hour
afterwards he returned with him. The good effects of the hot-bath were
already perceptible. The face of the child had resumed its placid
sweetness of expression, and there was but slight convulsive twitching
in the limbs. The doctor remained with them, applying, from time to
time, appropriate remedies, until all the painful signs which
occasioned so much alarm had vanished, and then left, promising to call
early on the next morning.

It was past one o'clock. The physician had left, and the domestics
retired to their own apartment. Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson were alone with
their still unconscious child, that lay in a deep, unnatural slumber.
They were standing, side by side, and bending over the bed on which
little Ella lay. Wilkinson had drawn his arm around his wife, and she
had laid her head upon his shoulder. Each he