, and then sink into a grave reverie, from
which it took more than one embrace to rouse her.

One night, or rather morning, Olive was roused by the sight of a white
figure standing at her bedside. She would have been startled, but that
Elspie, sleeping in the same room, had many a time come to look on her
darling, even in the middle of the night. She had apparently done so
now.

"Go to your bed again, dear nurse," anxiously cried Olive. "You should
not walk about. Nay, you are not worse?"

"Ay, ay, maybe; but dinna fear, dearie, we'll bide till the morn," said
Elspie, faintly, as she tried to move away, supporting herself by the
bed. Soon she sank back dizzily. "I canna walk. My sweet lassie, will ye
help your puir auld nurse?"

Olive sprang up, and guided her back to her bed. When she reached it,
Elspie said, thoughtfully, "It's strange, unco strange. My strength is
a' gane."

"Never mind, Elspie dear, you are weak with being ill; but you will get
better soon. Oh, yes, very soon!"

"It's no that;" and Elspie took her child's hands and looked wistfully
in her face. "Olive, gin ye were to tine your puir auld nurse? Gin I
were to gang awa?"

"Where?"

"Unto God," said Elspie, solemnly.--"Dearie, I wadna grieve ye, but I'm
aye sure this sickness is unto death."

It was strange that Olive did not begin to weep, as many a child would
have done; but though a cold trembling crept through her frame at these
words, she remained quite calm. For Elspie must be kept calm likewise,
and how could she be so if her child were not. Olive remembered this,
and showed no sign of grief or alarm. Besides, she could not--would not
believe a thing so fearful as Elspie's death. It was impossible.

"You must not think thus--you must think of nothing but getting well.
Lie down and go to sleep," she said, in a tone of almost womanly
firmness, which Elspie obeyed mechanically. Then she would have roused
the household, but the nurse forbade. By her desire Olive again lay
down.

It had always been her custom to creep to Elspie's bed as soon as she
awoke, but now she did so long before daylight, in answer to a faint
summons.

"I want ye, my bairn. Ye'll come to your auld nurse's arms--maybe
they'll no haud ye lang," murmured Elspie. She clasped the child once,
with an almost passionate tenderness, and then, turning away, dropped
heavily asleep.

But Olive did not sleep. She lay until broad daylight, counting hour
by hour, and thinki