home she
found Gertrude in a high fever. She spoke to Veronica as if she were still
a child, and had just come in from school. Veronica sat quietly down by
the bedside, and did what she could to soothe and refresh her, and when by
degrees her mother's mind became more clear, she proposed to her to send
for the doctor. But Gertrude did not want the doctor. She had no pain, she
said; she was only weak. Veronica sat by her side all night, but of course
it was no time to speak of the letter, and of the excitements of the day.
It would not do to arouse hopes that might never be fulfilled, and if
Dietrich came, that was enough. All through the long hours of the night,
the girl sat thinking over all the hopes and fears and perplexities of her
life, while Gertrude lay still and seemed to doze. Only now and then she
spoke some kindly words to the children, and Veronica knew that she
thought they were both there sitting by her bed-side; again her little
ones.

In the morning Gertrude was quite herself again. She would not hear of the
doctor's being called, declaring that she needed nothing but a few days'
rest. Veronica would not leave her; but sent word to Sabina, to ask her to
take her place for a few days, which she knew she could rely upon her to
do gladly, for Sabina was extremely friendly, and very proud of her former
pupil, who had been a great credit to her in the position for which she
had recommended her.

That day and the next night Mother Gertrude remained quiet, and seemed to
sleep most of the time. On the third day, it was evident that she was
looking for something, whenever she opened her eyes, although she was not
at all delirious; and she frequently exclaimed,

"Oh! if I could only see him once more!"

When the sunset light streamed through the window and illuminated the
room, a happy smile lighted up her face. She murmured:

"He half in dreamland seemed to float
Saying 'to-morrow will be fine.'"

After a while she turned towards Veronica and said,

"Veronica, sing it again, with him please; it is beautiful, and I like to
hear you sing together: 'To-morrow will be fine.'"

"You have been dreaming, mother; we have not been singing," said the poor
girl, wiping away her fast-flowing tears.

It was dark now and all was still. The little night-lamp threw a pale
light upon the bed, where the mother lay in a half-sleep. Veronica sat by
with big wide-open eyes. Her restless thoughts were busy with many