"She must, certainly, be unwell then," replied Agnes, "or she would
hardly leave me. Indeed I know that her spirits have not been so good of
late as usual. Formerly we used to chat ourselves asleep, but for some
weeks past she has been quite changed, and seldom spoke at all after
going to bed. Neither did she sleep so well latterly as she used to."

"She is, indeed, a delicate flower," observed her father, "and a very
slight blast, poor thing, will make her droop--droop perhaps into an
early grave!"

"Do not speak so gloomily, my dear Henry," said her mother. "What is
there in her particular case to justify any such apprehension?"

"Her health has been always good, too," observed Maria; "but the fact
is, we love her so affectionately that many things disturb us about her
which we would never feel if we loved her less."

"Mary," said her father, "you have in a few words expressed the true
state of our feelings with respect to the dear child. We shall find
her, I trust, in good health and spirits in the morning; and please the
Divine Will, all will again be well--but what's the matter with you,
Agnes?"

Mr. Sinclair had, a moment before, observed that an expression of
thought, blended with sorrow, overshadowed the face of his second
daughter. The girl, on hearing her father's enquiry, looked mournfully
upon him, whilst the tears ran silently down her cheeks.

"I will go to her," said she, "and stay with her if she lets me. Oh,