as spoken by either. Gerty lay
perfectly still in Emily's lap. By-and-by the latter perceived, by the
child's breathing, that, worn out with the fever and excitement of all
she had gone through, she had dropped into a quiet sleep. When Mrs.
Ellis returned, Emily pointed to the sleeping child, and asked her to
place her on the bed. She did so, and turning to Emily, exclaimed, "My
word, Miss Emily, that's the same rude, bawling little creature that
came so near being the death of us!" Emily smiled at the idea of a child
eight years old overthrowing a woman of Mrs. Ellis' inches, but said
nothing.

Why did Emily weep long that night, as she recalled the scene of the
morning? Why did she, on bended knees, wrestle so vehemently with a
mighty sorrow? Why did she pray so earnestly for new strength and
heavenly aid? Why did she so beseechingly ask of God His blessing on the
little child? Because she had felt, in many a year of darkness and
bereavement, in many an hour of fearful struggle, in many a pang of
despair, how a temper like that of Gerty's might, in one moment of its
fearful reign, cast a blight upon a lifetime, and write in fearful lines
the mournful requiem of early joy. And so she prayed to heaven for
strength to keep her firm resolve, and aid in fulfilling her undying
purpose, to cure that child of her dark infirmity.

CHAPTER X.

AN EARTHLY MESSENGER OF PEACE.

The next Sabbath afternoon found Gerty seated on a stool in Emily's
room. Her large eyes were fixed on Emily's face, which always seemed to
fascinate the little girl; so attentively did she watch her features,
the charm of which many an older person than Gerty had felt, but could
not describe. It was not beauty; though once her face was illumined by
beautiful hazel eyes: nor was it fascination of manner, for Emily's
manner and voice were so soft and unassuming that they never took the
fancy by storm. It was not compassion for her blindness, though that
might well excite sympathy. But it was hard to realise that Emily was
blind. It was a fact never forced upon her friend's recollection by any
repining or selfish indulgence on the part of the sufferer; and, as
there was nothing painful in the appearance of her closed lids, shaded
and fringed as they were by her long eyelashes, it was not unusual for
persons to converse upon things which could only be evident to the sense
of sight, and even direct her attention to one object and another, quite
for