ack in dismay, assured the mystery of her illness
would all be revealed. The next glance reassured her. She was sure he
would be kind, and not give her anything nauseous or dreadful. She
watched his cheek, as he leaned over her, to feel her pulse, wondering
what made such a beautiful color steal over it growing brighter and
brighter, till it looked as if the fire had been glowing upon it. She
did not know how very young he was, and this was the first time he had
ever been called to visit a patient alone, and that she, little child as
she was, was a very formidable object to him--considered as a being for
whose life he might be in a measure responsible.

"I would give her a composing mixture," said he, gently releasing the
slender wrist of his patient--"her brain seems greatly excited, but I do
not apprehend anything like an inflammation need be dreaded. She is very
nervous, and must be kept quiet."

Helen felt such inexpressible relief, that forgetting her character of
an invalid, she lifted her head, and gave him such a radiant look of
gratitude it quite startled him.

"See!" exclaimed Louis, rubbing his hands, "how bright she looks. The
doctor's coming has made her well."

"Don't make such a fuss, brother, I can't study," cried Mittie, tossing
her hair impatiently from her brow. "I don't believe she's any more sick
than I am, she just does it to be petted."

"Mittie!" said her mother, glancing towards the young doctor.

Mittie, with a sudden motion of the head peculiar to herself, brought
the hair again over her face, till it touched the leaves of the book, in
whose contents she seemed absorbed; but she peeped at the young doctor
through her thick, falling locks, and thought if she were sick, she
would much rather send for him than old Doctor Sennar.

The next morning Helen was really ill and feverish. The excitement of
the previous evening had caused a tension of the brain, which justified
the mother's fears. At night she became delirious, and raved
incoherently about _the worm-eaten traveler_, the spinning-woman, and
the grave-house to which they were bound.

Mrs. Gleason sat on one side of her, holding her restless hand in hers,
while Miss Thusa applied wet napkins to her burning temples. The mother
shuddered as she listened to the child's wild words, and something of
the truth flashed upon her mind.

"I fear," said she, raising her eyes, and fixing them mildly but
reproachfully on Miss Thusa's face--"you