CHAPTER III.

THE SICK CHAMBER.





In the course of a month there was a good deal more of light in the smile
with which my darling greeted me when I entered her room in the morning.
Her pain was greatly gone, but the power of moving her limbs had not yet
even begun to show itself.

One day she received me with a still happier smile than I had yet seen upon
her face, put out her thin white hand, took mine and kissed it, and said,
"Papa," with a lingering on the last syllable.

"What is it, my pet?" I asked.

"I am so happy!"

"What makes you so happy?" I asked again.

"I don't know," she answered. "I haven't thought about it yet. But
everything looks so pleasant round me. Is it nearly winter yet, papa? I've
forgotten all about how the time has been going."

"It is almost winter, my dear. There is hardly a leaf left on the