aid the governess, as
they entered the Rectory gates.

"I--I could not help it," murmured poor Hilda. With one hand she was
tightly grasping the edge of the little basket-carriage.

"Stop, there is father," she exclaimed suddenly. "Let me go to him. I--I
can bear him to tell me if there is anything wrong."

In an instant she reached the Rector's side. Her arms were round his
neck, her head on his shoulder, and she was sobbing her heart out on his
breast.

"My dearest Hilda, my darling!" exclaimed her father. "What is the
meaning of all this? Why are you so dreadfully unhappy, my child?"

"Tell me, father, I can bear it from you. Is she--is she dead?"

"Is who dead?"

"Ju--Judy."

"No; what has put that into your head? But your little sister is very
ill, Hilda. I am not so much alarmed about her as your Aunt Marjorie is,
but I confess her state puzzles me. I saw Dr. Harvey to-day, and I don't
think he is satisfied either. It seems that for some reason the child
was over-excited last night--there was difficulty in getting her off to
sleep, and she cried in a very distressing and painful way. I was
obliged to sit with her myself. I held her hand, poor little darling,
and had a prayer with her, and--toward morning she dropped off into a
sleep."

"And," continued Hilda, "she was better when she awoke, wasn't she? Do
say she was, father. You showed her Jasper's telegram the very instant
she awoke, and of course she got much better immediately."

"My dear Hilda, the strange thing about Judy has yet to be told; she has
not awakened--she is still asleep, and this prolonged and unnatural
sleep disturbs Dr. Harvey a good deal."

"I had better go to her at once, father. I think the doctor _must_ be
mistaken in thinking sleep bad. When Judy sees me sitting by her bedside
she will soon cheer up and get like her old self. I'll run to her now,
father: I don't feel half so much alarmed since you tell me that she is
only asleep."

The Rector gave vent to a troubled sigh; Hilda put wings to her feet,
and with the lightness and grace of a bird sped toward the house.

"Hilda, Hilda!" called her husband. He had taken a short cut across some
fields, and was now entering the Rectory domain. He thought it would be
quite the correct thing for his wife to wait for him. Surely she would
like to enter her family circle with him by her side. "Hilda, stop!" he
cried, and he hurried his own footsteps.

But if Hilda heard she did not