llness seemed
to fall over everything, and she went to sleep at last.

When she next opened her eyes the darkness was over--here was bright
daylight again, and Buskin drawing up her blind. The first words she
heard were like part of a dream:

"She's had a beautiful sleep, and the fever's taken a turn."

Susan rubbed her eyes to be quite sure she was awake, and that the good
news was true.

"The doctor's been already this morning," continued Buskin, coming up to
the bedside, "and he says she'll do now with care."

Susan had a hundred questions to ask, and her joy and relief were so
great that she wanted to pour it all out at once. But this morning
Buskin was "herself again," her soft expression was gone; she was cold
and stiff as usual, and would scarcely say more than "yes" and "no" to
these eager inquiries. "I shall hear all about it," said Susan to
herself, "at breakfast-time;" and she dressed as quickly as she could
and went down-stairs.

She was right, for no one mentioned any other subject throughout the
meal. Sophia Jane had been neither liked or valued while she was strong
and well, but her illness seemed to have drawn all hearts towards her.
And yet she was the same Sophia Jane!

"I never could have believed," said Aunt Hannah with tears in her eyes,
as she put down her tea-cup, "that I should have grown so fond of that
child!"

"Poor little darling!" said Nanna.

"I cried my eyes out last night," added Margaretta, "after Dr Martin
had gone."

"The relief of seeing her fall asleep!" continued Aunt Hannah. "I shall
never forget it! It was just two o'clock, and I had sent Buskin to bed.
Presently, I thought the child was lying more quietly, and her
breathing sounded different. I hardly dared to look at her, but when I
did she was sleeping as calmly as a baby, and her forehead quite moist.
I shall never forget it!"

"Dear little thing!" repeated Nanna.

"We shall all be very thankful, I'm sure," said Aunt Hannah looking
round the table, "if Sophia Jane gets quite well again."

"Of course we shall!" exclaimed everyone together.

"And during her illness I have felt that when she was well we were all
sometimes too hard upon her faults."

There was silence.

"Everyone is better for being loved," pursued Aunt Hannah. "And I fancy
no one has ever loved Sophia Jane much in her life. Perhaps this has
made her hard and disagreeable. At any rate, I think we might all with
advantage be more pat