and which never trembled.

"I will tell Susan, now that you have come--I could not before," said
Nettie, with another sigh. "Poor Susan! I was glad to let her sleep."

"But there is no one to think whether you sleep or not," cried Edward
Rider. "And those eyes have watched all night. Nettie, Nettie, could not
you have sent for me sooner? A word would have brought me at any
moment."

"You were not wanted till now," said Nettie, not without a touch of
womanly pride. "I have always been able to do my own work, Dr Edward.
But, now, don't let us quarrel any more," she said, after a pause. "You
were angry once, and I don't wonder. Never mind all that, but let us be
friends; and don't let all the people, and strangers, and men who don't
belong to us," cried Nettie once more, with hot tears in her eyes, "be
hard upon poor Fred!"

The next moment she had vanished up-stairs and left the doctor alone,
standing in the little cold hall with the key in his hand, and Mrs
Smith's troubled countenance beholding him from far. Edward Rider paused
before he entered upon his dismal share of this morning's work. Death
itself did not suffice to endear Fred Rider to his brother. But he stood
still, with a certain self-reproach, to withdraw his thoughts, if he
could, from Nettie, and to subdue the thrill--the most living touch of
life--which this meeting had stirred within him, before he entered that
miserable chamber of death.

CHAPTER XI.

That dreadful day ebbed over slowly--tedious, yet so full of events
and dismal business that it looked like a year rather than a day. The
necessary investigations were got through without any special call upon
Nettie. She spent the most of the day up-stairs with Susan, whose wild
refusal to believe at first, and sullen stupor afterwards, were little
different from the picture which Nettie's imagination had already made.
The children received the news with wondering stares and questions.
That they did not understand it was little, but that they scarcely
were interested after the first movement of curiosity, disappointed and
wounded the impatient heart, which unconsciously chafed at its own total
inability to convey the feelings natural to such a terrible occasion
into any bosom but its own. Nettie's perpetual activity had hitherto
saved her from this disgust and disappointment. She had been bitterly
intolerant by moments of Fred's disgraceful content and satisfaction
with his own indulgences,