The little girl defined the cause of her mother's not acceding to her
request at that moment, and she had no desire to cause her additional
pain, by again asking for anything to moisten her parched lips, or
remove the dry and bitter taste that the fever had caused.

Mrs. Wentworth had at last found out that Ella was sick.--Not from any
complaint of the child, for the little girl remained suffering in
silence, and never hinted that she was unwell.--But she had become so
weak that one morning, on endeavoring to rise from the bed, she fell
back and fainted from exhaustion, and on her mother's chafing her
forehead with water for the purpose of reviving her, discovered that
Ella had a hot fever. She was very much alarmed, and would have called
a doctor, but knowing no medical man who would attend her child
without remuneration, she was necessitated to content herself with
what knowledge she had of sickness. This had caused the money she had
remaining in her possession to be quickly expended.

The little girl bore her illness uncomplainingly, and although each
day she sunk lower and felt herself getting weaker, she concealed her
condition, and answered her mother's questions cheerfully. She was a
little angel that God had sent to Mrs. Wentworth. She was too young to
appreciate the extent of her mother's wretchedness, but she saw that
something was wrong and kept silent, and she lay there that day sick.
There was no hope for the child. Death had marked her as his prey, and
nothing could stay or turn away his ruthless hand from this little
flower of earth. Stern fate had decreed that she should die. The
unalterable sentence had been registered in the book of Heaven, and an
angel stood at her bedside ready to take her to God.