ection. Are you afraid?"

"No, no! don't talk of fear. I'll go to him. I--I was in trouble myself,
but that must wait. I'll go to him at once."

"I want you to go to your mother."

"My mother! is she ill too?"

"She is not exactly ill--I mean she is not worse than usual, but her
life is bound up in your father's. It would be a dreadful thing for your
sisters and yourself if your mother were to die. Your coming here at
this moment may mean her salvation. I have to go to her now, to tell her
that her dying husband has sent for her. Will you follow me into the
room? Will you act according to your own impulses? I am sure God will
direct you. Stay where you are for a minute--try to be brave. Follow me
into the room as soon as you can."

Dorothy left the drawing room. As she went away, she heard the young man
groan. She did not give herself time to think--she opened the parlor
door.

Mrs. Staunton was sitting in her favorite seat by the window. Her face
was scarcely at all paler than it had been a week ago. She sat then by
the window, looking out at her trouble, which showed like a speck in the
blue sky. The shadow which enveloped her whole life was coming closer
now, enveloping her like a thick fog. Still she was bearing up. Her eyes
were gazing out on the garden--on the flowers which she and the doctor
had tended and loved together. Some of the younger children had
clustered round her knee--one of them held her hand--another played with
a bunch of keys and trinkets which she always wore at her side.

"Go on, mother," said little Marjory, aged seven. "Don't stop."

"I have nearly finished," said Mrs. Staunton.

"But not quite. Go on, mother; I want to hear the end of the story,"
said Phil.

Mrs. Staunton did not see Dorothy, who stood motionless near the door.

"They got so tired," she began in a monotonous sort of voice--"so
dreadfully tired, that there was nothing for them to do but to try and
get into the White Garden."

"A _White Garden_!" repeated Phil. "Was it pretty?"

"Lovely!"

"Why was it called a White Garden?" asked Marjory.

"Because of the flowers. They were all white--white roses, white lilies,
snowdrops, chrysanthemums--all the flowers that are pure white without
any color. The air is sweet with their perfume--the people who come to
live in the White Garden wear white flowers on their white dresses--it
is a beautiful sight."

"It must be," said Marjory, who had a great deal of imagination.