a. "If he
only would! But will you come up to my room? That is nearer."

"Is papa with him?"

"Yes."

Meta wound her arms round Ethel, and led her up to her sitting-room,
where a book lay on the table. She said that her father had seemed weary
and torpid, and had sat still until almost their late dinner-hour, when
he seemed to bethink himself of dressing, and had risen. She thought
he walked weakly, and rather tottering, and had run to make him lean on
her, which he did, as far as his own room door. There he had kissed
her, and thanked her, and murmured a word like blessing. She had not,
however, been alarmed, until his servant had come to tell her that he
had another seizure.

Ethel asked whether she had seen Dr. May since he had been with her
father. She had; but Ethel was surprised to find that she had not taken
in the extent of his fears. She had become so far accustomed to these
attacks, that, though anxious and distressed, she did not apprehend more
than a few days' weakness, and her chief longing was to be of use. She
was speaking cheerfully of beginning her nursing to-morrow, and of her
great desire that her papa would allow her to sit up with him, when
there was a slow, reluctant movement of the lock of the door, and the
two girls sprang to their feet, as Dr. May opened it; and Ethel read his
countenance at once.

Not so Meta. "How is he? May I go to him?" cried she.

"Not now, my dear," said Dr. May, putting his hand on her shoulder, in
a gentle, detaining manner, that sent a thrill of trembling through her
frame, though she did not otherwise move. She only clasped her hands
together, and looked up into his face. He answered the look. "Yes, my
dear, the struggle is over."

Ethel came near, and put her arm round Meta's waist, as if to strengthen
her, as she stood quite passive and still.

Dr. May seemed to think it best that all should be told; but, though
intently watching Meta, he directed his words to his own daughter.
"Thank Heaven, it has been shorter, and less painful, than I had dared
to hope."

Meta tried to speak, but could not bring out the words, and, with an
imploring look at Ethel, as if to beg her to make them clear for her,
she inarticulately murmured, "Oh! why did you not call me?"

"I could not. He would not let me. His last conscious word to me was not
to let you see him suffer."

Meta wrung her clasped hands together in mute anguish. Dr. May signed to
Ethel to guide her back to