ven at
that moment Aunt Mary was not without thought for Beatrice, who was
retreating, as if she feared to be as much in her way as she had been in
Henrietta's.

"I did not see you, before, Queenie," she said, holding out her hand and
kissing her, "you have gone through more than any one."

A thrill of fond grateful affection brought the tears into Queen Bee's
eyes. How much there was even in the pronunciation of that pet playful
name to touch her heart, and fill it to overflowing with love and
contrition. She longed to pour out her whole confession, but there was
no one to attend to her--the patient occupied the whole attention of
all. He was carried to his mother's room, placed in bed, and again
examined by young Mr. Carey, who pronounced with increased confidence
that there was no fracture, and gave considerable hopes of improvement.
While this was passing, Henrietta sat on the upper step of the stairs,
her head on her hands, scarcely moving or answering when addressed. As
evening twilight began to close in, the surgeon left the room, and went
down to make his report to those who were anxiously awaiting it in the
drawing-room; and she took advantage of his exit to come to the door,
and beg to be let in.

Uncle Geoffrey admitted her; and her mother, who was sitting by the
bed-side, held out her hand. Henrietta came up to her, and at first
stood by her, intently watching her brother; then after a time sat down
on a footstool, and, with her head resting on her mother's lap, gave
herself up to a sort of quiet heavy dream, which might be called the
very luxury of grief. Uncle Geoffrey sat by the fire, watching
his sister-in-law even more anxiously than the patient, and thus a
considerable interval passed in complete silence, only broken by the
crackling of the fire, the ticking of the watches, or some slight change
of posture of one or other of the three nurses. At last the stillness
was interrupted by a little movement among the bedclothes, and with a
feeling like transport, Henrietta saw the hand, which had hitherto lain
so still and helpless, stretched somewhat out, and the head turned upon
the pillow. Uncle Geoffrey stood up, and Mrs. Frederick Langford pressed
her daughter's hand with a sort of convulsive tremor. A faint voice
murmured "Mamma!" and while a flush of trembling joy illumined her pale
face, she bent over him, answering him eagerly and fondly, but he did
not seem to know her, and again repeating "Mamma