it
will be as it was with his father, who lived twelve hours after his
accident."

"But surely, surely," said Beatrice eagerly, "this is a very different
case; Fred has spoken so much more than my uncle did; and Philip says he
is convinced that there is no fracture--"

"It is a morbid feeling," said Mr. Geoffrey Langford, "and therefore
impossible to be reasoned away. I see she dreads to be told to hope, and
I shall not even attempt it till these fatal twelve hours are over."

"Poor dear aunt!" sighed Beatrice. "I am glad, if it was to be, that you
were here, for nobody else would understand her."

"Understand her!" said he, with something of a smile. "No, Bee,
such sorrow as hers has a sacredness in it which is not what can be
understood."

Beatrice sighed, and then with a look as if she saw a ray of comfort,
said, "I suppose mamma will soon be here?"

"I think not," said her father, "I shall tell her she had better wait
to see how things go on, and keep herself in reserve. At present it is
needlessly tormenting your aunt to ask her to leave Fred for a moment,
and I do not think she has even the power to rest. While this goes on,
I am of more use in attending to him than your mamma could be; but if
he is a long time recovering, it will be a great advantage to have her
coming fresh, and not half knocked up with previous attendance."

"But how she will wish to be here!" exclaimed Beatrice, "and how you
will want her!"

"No doubt of that, Queenie," said her father smiling, "but we must
reserve our forces, and I think she will be of the same mind. Well, I
must go. Where is Henrietta to sleep to-night?"

"With me," said Beatrice.

"I will send her to you as soon as I can. You must do what you can with
her, Bee, for I can see that the way she hangs on her mamma is quite
oppressive. If she had but a little vigour!"

"I don't know what to do about her!" said Beatrice with more dejection
than she had yet shown, "I wish I could be of any comfort to her, but I
can't--I shall never do good to anybody--only harm."

"Fear the harm, and the good will come," said Mr. Geoffrey Langford.
"Good night, my dear."

Beatrice threw herself on her knees as soon as the door had closed on
her father, and so remained for a considerable time in one earnest,
unexpressed outpouring of confession and prayer, for how long she knew
not, all that she was sensible of was a feeling of relief, the repose of
such humility and submission, su