She was very ill; the fever gained head; and the old doctor, who was a
friend of the family, looked very grave at her. Eleanor saw it. She
knew that a battle was to be fought between the powers of life and
death; and the thought that no one could tell how the victory would be,
came like an ice wind upon flowers. Her spirit shrank and cowered
before it. Hopes and pleasures and plans, of which she was so full
yesterday, were chilled to the ground; and across the cleared pathway
of vision, what appeared? Eleanor would not look.

But the battle must be fought; and it had to be fought amid pain and
fever and weariness and the anxious looks of friends; and it was not
soon decided. And the wish for that helmet of shelter, whatever it
might be, came at times bitterly strong over Eleanor's heart. Many a
heavily drawn sigh, which her mother charged to the body's weariness,
came from the mind's longing. And in the solitude of the night, when
her breath was quick and her pulse was high and she knew everything was
going wrong, the thought came with a sting of agony,--if there was such
a helmet, and she could not have it. O to be well and strong, and need
none!--or while lying before death's door to see if it would open, O to
have that talisman that would make its opening peace! It was not at
Eleanor's hand, and she did not know where to find it. And when the
daylight came again, and the doctor looked grave, and her mother turned
away the anxious face she did not wish Eleanor to read, the cold chill
of fear crept over Eleanor's heart. She hid it there. No creature in
the house, she knew, could meet or quiet it; if indeed her explanation
of it could have been understood. She banished it as often as it was
possible; but during many days that Eleanor lay on a sick bed, it was
so frequent a visiter that her heart grew sore for its coming.

There were June roses and summer sunshine outside; and sweet breaths
came in at the open windows, telling the time of year. Julia reported
how fine the strawberries were, and went and came with words about
walks and flowers and joyous doings; while Eleanor's room was darkened,
and phials of medicine and glasses stood on the table, and the doctor
went and carne, and Mrs. Powle hardly left her by day, and at night
tile nurse slept, and Eleanor tossed and turned on her pillow and
thought of another "night" that "cometh."

The struggle with fever and pain was over at last. Then came weakness;
and thou