remained with closed eyes and listless form, whilst the good woman
looked at her and felt her pulse. Then her lips moved slightly, as if
wishing to say something, but emitted no sound. What was to be done for
one in such a helpless state? Mrs Prothero's kind heart sank within her.

As she did not like to disturb the weary wretches, who were sleeping so
soundly in their rags amongst the hay and straw, she prepared to leave
the barn; but as she moved away, the girl's eyes unclosed, and glanced
dimly at her through a film of tears. Nourishment seemed the only remedy
that presented itself to her mind. She smiled kindly at the girl,
murmured 'I will come again,' and went through the sleepers towards the
door, pausing, however, to look at the peaceful face of the baby, as it
lay on its mother's arm, covered with the old red cloak.

She returned to the house, and went to the clean, large dairy, where she
took a cup of the last night's milk, already covered with rich cream,
from a pan and went with it to the back kitchen, where was a fire, kept
up all night by means of the hard Welsh coal, and heat-diffusing balls.
She warmed the milk, procured a piece of fine white bread, and once more
returned to the barn.

She administered these remedies to her patient, who swallowed them with
the same avidity and difficulty as she had done the broth. She fancied
she again heard the words, 'God bless you, my lady,' but they were so
faint that she was not sure.

Again she threaded her way amongst the sleepers, and left the barn. She
went into her garden, and walked for a few moments amongst the flowers,
as if for council. The bees were beginning to hum about the hives, and
the butterflies to flit amongst the flowers. She stood and looked at the