CHAPTER III.

Out of the day and night

A joy has taken flight.-SHELLEY.

FOR several days the doctor's visits were short and frequent; and his conversation was made up of little abrupt questions and ejaculations, assurances to Hulda that if he killed her he would have her buried, and earnest requests to Rosalie that she would furnish him with another patient. His first step was always towards the window; and having admitted a few of the proscribed sunbeams, he came back to the bed and made his observations, and once more closed the shutter. Counsel and warning about antimony and apple-water took up what further time the doctor saw fit to bestow in this quarter of his round; and then the room was left to the unquiet motions of the sick child, and the gentle and tender ministering of her nurse. Sometimes when Hulda was more than usually at ease, her eyes followed Rosalie about the room-watching with a dreamy pleasure the perfect doing of the one person whom she thought perfectnoticing the noiseless placing of a stick of wood on the fire, and the laughing answer which the flames gave thereto; and sometimes her thoughts were held fast for awhile, as the white ashes came over the red coals, and then dropped off, or the sap went singing out at the end of the stick, or the stick itself broke and fell down over the andirons. But her eyes got tired with the light and went after Rosalie, who was perhaps arranging the cups and napkin on the little stand; and if she went into the closet Hulda knew she had gone for an apple, and watched with some interest while the apple was made fast to a string, and that again to the mantel-piece. Then she noticed the desperate twists of the apple when it found itself at liberty to twist; and turning her head a little she listened to hear the first spurt of the apple-juice, and watched the bright drops as they came back from their

tangent and fell into the little silver plate that awaited them; while the apple having waltzed to its heart's content, presented a steady front to the fire and rebelled against being roasted all round. Often Hulda fell asleep here, and then awoke in time to see the refractory apple, all brown and shrivelled, cut loose from the string and shut up in a silver pitcher with plenty of boiling water. At this point she always felt thirsty, and was quite ready for the tumbler by the time it came to her bedside; but though Rosalie held her up and managed glass and spoon to admiration-tasted the apple-water too, lest it might be not sweet or not cool enough-Hulda could take but a few spoonfuls, and was glad to lie down again.

Thornton's visits were a little variety, but of no other use; though he always wore a look as if he knew he ought to do something, and hadn't the remotest idea what,—a look which his sister understood perfectly, and read with sometimes a smile and sometimes a sigh. The visits were always short. Hulda could bear very little talking or reading, and her greatest comfort was to have Rosalie's face on the pillow with her own, and to hear from her lips a verse of a hymn or from the Bible, or some little story or incident, or a few of her own sweet and quiet words. No one else entered the room, except to bring wood and water and Rosalie's meals; and on these occasions Martha Jumps restrained as much as possible her own love of talk, and said not many words more than were needful. The sounds from the street became to little Hulda's ear almost what they were to her sister's; and in the still, late evening she lay and listened to the oysterman, with a strange feeling of dreariness and pleasure. And as in health, so in sickness, the morning never rose, and the evening never fell, that Rosalie did not kneel by her little sister, and pray with her and for her in just such words as she could understand. Martha Jumps stayed her foot if perchance she entered the room at those times; and Thornton more than once found himself there, and wished himself away, and did not go.

"I wonder what Dr. Buffem would say to such proceedings!" he remarked one evening, when he had come softly in during the prayer and had stood watching and

listening too proud even to bend his head. "In my opinion he would call them feverish. What would you say, Rosalie, if I should report-and if the doctor should issue contrary orders ?"

"I should hear them," she answered with a smile that told very plainly what more she would do.

"And by what token, my sage sister, do you prove yourself wiser than your physician?"

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Oh-by not 'thinking of men above what is written.' "A most complete lady in the opinion of some three beside herself!" said Thornton. "Nevertheless, I stand

to the feverishness."

"But it couldn't make me feverish," said Hulda, putting in her word with a voice as pale and thin as her face. "I like it-always."

"Like it, you pickaninny! You don't know what you like."

"It would be strange," said Rosalie with a very gentle look at Hulda, and then turning one no less gentle but of somewhat different expression upon Thornton; "it would be strange if a child brought up as she has been, to look upon God as her best friend, should be disturbed or wearied by all mention of his name."

"You are looking marvellously pretty to-night," was Thornton's cool reply, while he surveyed his sister as if he had not the remotest idea what she was talking about. "I only hope you will keep on these wrappers when you come down-stairs again. I am as tired of seeing you in that black dress as a man can be of seeing you at all, I suppose. Here-don't turn off with that face ;-look up and kiss me before I go. What are you so grave about ?"

She gave the required kiss, but not the required answer; and moving away to the fire-place began to pile together the fallen brands-arranging and altering, as if in no haste to have the task finished.

"Well-what?" said Thornton, following her. "What have I said that was so dreadful? Did you never hear that

'A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn ?"

"You speak as if you did not know why I wear that black dress," she said, without looking at him.

THORNTON AND ROSALIE.

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"I don't know why the wearing is in the present tense, I'm sure. Give me the tongs-you know as much about fires as about some other things. I say it is a fashion I cannot abide; and if one must follow popular superstition for a time, the less time the better. Such a fire !—put together as if the world went by suggestion!"

"The world does not go by pounding," said Rosalie, "and your fire is going up chimney in the shape of sparks. Hadn't you better suggest it to blaze ?"

"I never make suggestions," said he, throwing down the tongs. "What I've got to say comes out head first. Now here you persist in shutting yourself up, and trying to be as nun-like as possible. I wonder you submit to be called Rosalie! Why not Sister Ursula,' or some such sweet appellation ?"

"I should not like to undertake any more Sisterhoods than I belong to at present," said Rosalie with a slight smile.

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"Well, leave off that dress, will you ?" said Thornton. "I abominate hoods of all kinds! And let us have pleasant recollections instead of disagreeable."

"Disagreeable!" She stood silent and still, while the flickering light of the fire played over her face, and mingled curiously with the feelings that flitted to and fro there. "O Thornton!" she said; "would you forget our mother?"

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Her hands were laid upon his shoulders now, and her eyes looked clear and full into his. He would willingly have freed himself from that light touch of reproof and sorrow, yet he did not try; but his own eyes fell, and it was with a very changed and softened expression that he answered

"I would sometimes forget if I could that she is not here."

She might have filled that mother's place for the way in which she looked at him. And then laying her head on his shoulder, while her hands were clasped about his neck, Rosalie said

"If you could. But oh, my dear brother! never forget where she is! I would I could keep that before you every minute of your life."

If the wings of the recording angel had touched him, and the book been laid open before his eyes, Thornton could not have felt more sure that a new prayer for him was registered in heaven. And yet he did not answer according to that assurance-and there was no more spoken; for when Rosalie raised her head it was to bid him once more 66 Good-night," and he left her without

a word.

Hardly had little Hulda eaten that small allowance of tea and biscuit which she called her breakfast, next morning, before the doctor made his appearance. But every. thing was ready for him, and the room not only wore a comfortable but a comforted aspect; for Rosalie's face was a shade less anxious, and Hulda's face several shades more bright. So in answer to the doctor's inquiries she told him that she was a great deal better; though indeed she had been "better" every time he had come.

"I shouldn't wonder if you were to be quite a respectable-looking child, after all," said Dr. Buffem, bending down to impress his approbation upon Hulda's forehead, one of these days-if you keep on. Feel most like an oyster or a clam this morning ?"

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"I don't know how they feel, sir," said Hulda, laughing. "Don't laugh," said the doctor-" that will never do. Not sick yet, Miss Rosalie? I had strong hopes you would be by this time. She looks like an oyster, don't she, Miss Tom Thumb ?"

"No indeed!" said Hulda, quite forgetting her own name in the one bestowed on her sister; not a bit!" "You think not?" said the doctor. "Well I could swear there had been pearls in the vicinity-A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears.' Who's been eating honey?"

"Oh, Rosalie had it for her breakfast," said Hulda. "Hum!' said the doctor. "What have you had for yours? Eaten a whole beefsteak, eh ?"

"May I have some beefsteak ?" said Hulda.

Why no," said Doctor Buffem, "I should think not. Wait a day or two, Miss Rosalie, and then give her beefsteak, and a little antimony, a soda biscuit, a cup of chicken-broth, a buckwheat cake, a little salts or magnesia