regard him as she used to do, yet
unable to bring back the feeling, and therefore, do what she would,
failing to wear its semblance.

Laura, sad, anxious, and restless, had no relief till she went to wish
her sister good night. Amabel, who was already in bed, stretched out her
hand with a sweet look, beaming with affection and congratulation.

'You don't want to be convinced now that all is right!' said she.

'His head is so dreadfully bad!' said Laura.

'Ah! it will get better now his mind is at rest.'

'If it will but do so!'

'And you know you must be happy to-morrow, because of baby.'

'My dear,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, coming in, 'I am sorry to prevent your
talk, but Amy must not be kept awake. She must keep her strength for
to-morrow.'

'Good night, then, dear, dear Laura. I am so glad your trouble is over,
and you have him again!' whispered Amabel, with her parting kiss; and
Laura went away, better able to hope, to pray, and to rest, than she
could have thought possible when she left the drawing-room.

'Poor dear Laura,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, sighing; 'I hope he will soon
be better.'

'Has it been very uncomfortable?'

'I can't say much for it, my dear. He was suffering terribly with his
head, so that I should have been quite alarmed if he had not said it was
apt to get worse in the evening; and she, poor thing, was only watching
him. However, it is a comfort to have matters settled; and papa and
Charlie are well pleased with him. But I must not keep you awake after
driving Laura away. You are not over-tired to-night I hope, my dear?'

'Oh, no; only sleepy. Good night, dearest mamma.'

'Good night, my own Amy;' then, as Amy put back the coverings to show
the little face nestled to sleep on her bosom, 'good night, you little
darling! don't disturb your mamma. How comfortable you look! Good night,
my dearest!'

Mrs. Edmonstone looked for a moment, while trying to check the tears
that came at the thought of the night, one brief year ago, when she left
Amy sleeping in the light of the Easter moon. Yet the sense of peace and
serenity that had then given especial loveliness to the maiden's
chamber on that night, was there still with the young widow. It was dim
lamplight now that beamed on the portrait of her husband, casting on it
the shade of the little wooden cross in front, while she was shaded by
the white curtains drawn from her bed round the infant's little cot,
so as to shut them both into the qu