"Harriet, this seems to me most horrible impiety," said Mrs. Wharton,
"to ask God to grant your desires, whether agreeable to His will, or
not; I should much fear if your request were granted, that it would only
be to show you, that you know not what is best for yourself, and for
those you love; and that you might some day wish you had left this
matter in the hands of God, even if it had been His will to take your
darling to Himself."

When Dr. Rodney came that morning, he found the child in a profound
slumber. "This," said he, "is, I think, the crisis of the disease; on no
account let him be disturbed; if he awakes conscious, he will in all
human probability recover."

And they watched him in breathless stillness, Mrs. Wharton on one side
of the cradle, and his mother on a low stool beside him, with her sad
gaze riveted on his little face, to catch his first waking glance, and
to see whether the eye then beamed with intelligence, or not.

Oh, who can imagine the agony, the terrible suspense of such watching,
but those who have sat as that poor mother did, over a loved one
hovering between life and death. And as Mrs. Wharton sat so silently
opposite her, her thoughts were sometimes raised in prayer for her poor
misguided sister; and sometimes she sat looking at her as a perfect
enigma; with a heart so capable of loving devotedly, and yet so steeled
against her own child, and so lovely and winning a little creature as
Agnes. It was a puzzle which she had often tried to solve, in vain.

After an hour more of deep slumber, Lewie started and awoke. For a
moment his glance rested with a bewildered expression upon his mother's