the manner of her son's death.

"That will do, master Peter," she exclaimed, the moment he had finished;
and she snatched his hand and led him away, telling him to go and play
in the orchard.

Peter was not destitute of gratitude, and as he made his exit, he
thought, what a good thing it was that he did not say his lesson to his
grandmother every day.

When the nurse turned again she observed that Madam Melcombe had
tottered a step or two forward: her grand-daughter, and her grandson's
widow were supporting her. One of them called to her to fetch some
cordial, and this seemed to disturb the poor old woman, for she
presently said slowly, and as if it caused her a great effort to
speak,--

"What are they gone for? and what are you doing?"

"We're holding you up, grandmother; you tremble, dear; you can hardly
stand. Won't you sit down?"

"Won't I what?" she repeated. "I don't hear;" and she began to move
with their help and that of her staff to the balustrade.

The old fancy; the constant fancy; gazing at the bed of lilies, and
talking to herself as, with her trembling hand to her brow, she peered
out towards the arbour. They were words of no particular significance
that she said; but just as the nurse came back bringing her a cordial,
she turned round and repeated them distinctly, and with a solemnity that