scared looking face like that. Go to bed for a couple of hours, and by that time the doctor will have been and given his orders, and Sally and I shall have put things a bit straight here, and then I'll see what I can let you do for me."

There was a respectful authority in the old housekeeper's manner which, coupled with a sensation of increasing weakness, disposed me to yield to her desire-and assuring her I wanted no assistance, but would obey her instructions to the letter, I crept to my own room, and throwing myself without undressing on the bed, was soon wrapt in a profound and dreamless sleep, and utterly unconscious during many hours, of all that was keeping the other members of the household in a state of anxiety and incessant activity.

CHAPTER XII.

THE TIDINGS TOLD.

WHEN I awoke, feverish and unrefreshed, some straggling beams of a sickly winter sunshine had found their way into my room, and the little housemaid was standing near my bed with a cup of tea in her hand.

"Lawk, miss, ain't I glad that you've opened your eyes at last; you looked for all the world like a corpse, and if Mrs. Allen hadn't been so busy, I should have called her to see if you wasn't

dead. Take a good drink of this strong tea; it's cold enough now, I warrant."

I swallowed the reviving beverage eagerly, and then asked how Mr. Seymour was.

"Just about bad, I can tell you," was the country girl's reply, in a voice that betrayed her participation in the weakness peculiar to narrow minds, of loving to impart news of an alarming description; "the doctor says he's got the fever terrible, and he can't tell but what he'll die of it, poor gentleman! Who'd have thought it, to see him yesterday? and Miss Effie lying dead in the house. We're to have a reg'lar nurse from the village, and but good gracious, miss, you be a going off quite white again. I'd better call Mrs. Allen."

"No, no, Sally, I shall be well presently, only you must not talk so much. What o'clock is it now ?"

"Nearly three. There's a good fire in the

parlour, if you can get down, miss, or should you like one lighted here?"

I could not of course think of giving any additional trouble at such a time, so I said I would go down to the parlour, as I was shivering with cold, and that when Mrs. Allen was disengaged for a moment I should be glad to speak with her.

This did not happen till after four o'clock, and in the interval I sat alone in that dreary parlour, incapable of doing anything but cower over the fire, and picture to myself the scene when poor Richard should arrive.

I was very sorry for Mr. Seymour, and fully determined, if they would let me, to assist in nursing him (for Effie's sake perhaps even more than for his own) but as there could be only physical suffering for him at present, I certainly felt more sympathy for Richard, and accorded him the largest share in my distressed and troubled thoughts.

Sally brought me in some dinner soon after I had gone down stairs, with a message from Mrs. Allen that she hoped I would not refuse to eat a bit; and I did eat, because I felt that my strength would otherwise have given way, and I wanted to be a help and not a hindrance in the already burdened household.

At length Mrs. Allen came to me herself, and said that the nurse having arrived, she could now "sit down quiet" for a minute or two. The dear old lady was looking painfully careworn, and wholly unfit for all the arduous duties that were devolving on her; but her zeal and courage seemed to rise in proportion as her bodily strength faltered, and she assured me that she had no fears of not getting through her task, and only hoped that I should bear up as well.

It appeared that for once Sally had not exaggerated the doctor's report of Mr. Seymour. The fever was of the most virulent kind, and