lled the child, and her grandfather brought her upstairs.

'How does my girl feel to-night?' asked Mr Prothero cheerfully.

'Better, father, thank you; quite well indeed. God bless you, darling.
Be a good child to grandmother and Aunt Gladys, and all. God bless you,
father. I think I should like to have Owen and Gladys to wish me
good-night; it is so nice to see you all together.'

Owen and Gladys came, and Netta bade 'God bless' them all, and said she
should now go to sleep quite happy.

Gladys went to put Minette to bed, and Mrs Prothero sat by Netta's
pillow.

'Good-night, mother; God bless you,' Netta said, more than once, before
she fell asleep.

When Gladys returned, she was sleeping peacefully.

'The excitement of the day seems to have passed away,' whispered Gladys.
'Let me watch by her, dear mother.'

The words 'mother' and 'daughter' had come quite naturally to Mrs
Prothero and Gladys.

'No, Gladys, thank you; not to-night. I will be in the room to-night.'

'Then you will go to bed soon?'

'Yes, very shortly.'

The two women embraced one another tenderly.

'We can only pray for her, poor lamb,' said Mrs Prothero gently. 'I have
given her to the Lord to do with her according to His good pleasure.'

'He will not leave her nor forsake her,' said Gladys.

Mrs Prothero sat a long time by her child's side watching her, but she
slept so calmly that at last she went to the little table by the fire,
and read her Bible. It was late--very late for the farm--when she
undressed herself and lay down on the little bed, placed near the larger
bed of Netta. Even then, more than an hour passed before she slept. The
last thing she heard before she closed her eyes was her daughter's
somewhat irregular breathing--the last words that rang in her ears were
her 'God bless you, mother.'

Gladys, uneasy, she knew not wherefore, was in the room at about three
o'clock in the morning. She had learnt to move so gently that the
sleepers were not conscious of her presence. She was most thankful to
find them sleeping.

Gladys was up and dressed by six o'clock. She was anxious to spare her
mother all possible trouble, and to see that the household was astir
before she arose. It was a cold, dark January morning. As she went down
the passage, a candle in her hand, towards Netta's room, she felt the
chill air press heavily around her. She put the candle on the floor,
outside the room, and went in. The night-light had burnt ou