looked down on the little figure all pale and
ruffled in the cold grey light.

"Why, I thought you were asleep," he said. "Would you like to
see your father now? You may come in, but you must be very
quiet, for he is dozing."

"Then he is better?" said Madelon, anxiously.

Graham did not answer, he opened the door and led her in. The
room looked cheerless with the shaded night-lamp casting long
shadows, which mingles with those that the growing daylight
was chasing away. M. Linders was lying with his head supported
on a heap of pillows: his forehead was bandaged where the deep
cut had been given just above the brow, and he looked deadly
pale; his eyes were closed, he was breathing heavily, and
Madelon thought that, as Graham had told her, he was asleep;
but it was, in fact, rather a kind of stupor, from which
louder noises than the sound of her soft footfall would have
failed to rouse him. She went on tiptoe up to his bedside, and
stood gazing at him for a moment, and then with a swift,
silent movement buried her face in her hands, and burst into
an agony of crying.

"He is very ill--oh! is he going to die?" was all the answer
she could give in a hoarse whisper to Graham's attempts at
comfort, trying the while to smother her sobs, so that they
might not break out and wake her father.

"I hope not--I hope not," said Horace, quite grieved at the
sight of her distress; "but you must not cry so, Madelon; how
are you to nurse him and help him to get well again if you
do?"

She stopped sobbing a little at this, and tried to check her
tears.

"Do you really think he will get well again?" she said; "he
looks so ill."

Graham did not at once answer. In truth, he saw no prospect of
M. Linders' ultimate recovery, though he would probably regain
consciousness, and might, perhaps, linger on for a few days.
But there always remained the hope born of a determination not
to despair, and it seemed cruel, at that moment, not to share
it with our poor little Madelon.

"We must hope so," he said at last, "we must always hope for
the best, you know; but he must be kept very quiet, so you and
I, Madelon, must do our best to watch him, and see that he is
not disturbed."

"Yes," said Madelon, drying her eyes quite now. "I will take
care of him."

"Very well, then, if you will sit with him now, I will go and
speak to Madame Lavaux, if she is up; there are several
arrangements I have to make."

He went away, leaving Madelo