grew pale as death, but I would say no more of my fears to Emma.

She opened the library door, where she said Sir Roland was waiting for me, and left me there.

I went in and sprang to my father's arms--my own clasped together round his neck--looking eagerly in his face.

Ah, me! how changed it was from the handsome, laughing face of yesterday--so haggard, so worn, so white, and I could see that he had shed many tears.

"My little Laura--my darling," he said, "I have something to tell you--something which has happened since you bade dear mamma good-night."

"Oh, not to her!" I cried, in an agony of tears; "not to her!"

"Mamma is living," he said, and I broke from his arms. I flung myself in an agony of grief on the ground. Those words, "Mamma is living," seemed to me only little less terrible than those I had dreaded to hear--"Mamma is dead."

Ah, my darling, it would have been better had you died then.

"Laura," said my father, gravely, "you must try and control yourself. You are only a child, I know, but it is just possible"--and here his voice quivered--"it is just possible that you might be useful to your mother."

That was enough. I stood erect to show him how brave I could be.

Then he took me in his arms.

"My dearest little Laura," he said, "two angels have been with us during the night--the angel of life and the angel of death. You have had a little brother, but he only lived one hour. Now he is dead, and mamma is very dangerously ill. The doctors say that unless she has most perfect rest she will not get better--there must not be a sound in the house."

A little brother! At first my child's mind was so filled with wonder I could not realize what it meant. How often I had longed for brothers and sisters! Now I had had one, and he was dead before I could see him.

"I should like to see my little brother, papa--if I may," I said.

He paused thoughtfully for a few minutes, then answered:

"I am quite sure you may, Laura; I will take you."

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