gone.

Laura stared at the suddenly vacated space where they had been. At
a thought she started. Then she rushed upstairs to her mother, who
was sitting in the hall near her husband's door.

"Mamma," whispered Laura, flinging herself upon her knees beside
her, "when papa wanted to speak to you, was it a message to Cora?"

"Yes, dear. He told me to tell her he was sorry he'd made her
sick, and that if he got well he'd try to do what she asked him
to."

Laura nodded cheerfully. "And he _will_ get well, darling mother,"
she said, as she rose. "I'll come back in a minute and sit with
you."

Her return was not so quick as she promised, for she lay a long
time weeping upon her pillow, whispering over and over:

"Oh, poor, poor papa! Oh, poor, poor Richard!"

CHAPTER TWELVE

Within a week Mr. Madison's illness was a settled institution in
the household; the presence of the nurse lost novelty, even to
Hedrick, and became a part of life; the day was measured by the
three regular visits of the doctor. To the younger members of the
family it seemed already that their father had always been sick,
and that he always would be; indeed, to Cora and Hedrick he had
become only a weak and querulous voice beyond a closed door.
Doctor Sloane was serious but reassuring, his daily announcement
being that his patient was in "no immediate danger."

Mrs. Madison did not share her children's sanguine adaptability;
and, of the three, Cora was the greatest solace to the mother's
troubled heart, though Mrs. Madison never recognized this without
a sense of injustice to Laura, for Laura now was housewife and
housekeeper--that is, she did all the work except the cooking, and
on "wash-day" she did that. But Cora's help was to the very spirit
itself, for she was sprightly in these hours of trial: with
indomitable gayety she cheered her mother, inspiring in her a
firmer confidence, and, most stimulating of all, Cora steadfastly
refused to consider her father's condition as serious, or its
outcome as doubtful.

Old Sloane exaggerated, she said; and she made fun of his gravity,
his clothes and his walk, which she mimicked till she drew a
reluctant and protesting laugh from even her mother. Mrs. Madison
was sure she "couldn't get through" this experience save for Cora,
who was indeed the light of the threatened house.

Strange perversities of this world: Cora's gayety was almost
unbearable to her brother. Not because he thought it either