into a flood of peevish tears, saying that Dora was getting cross, and
did not love her as formerly. In this the good woman saw signs less
fearful than those of moral disease, but no less true; saw that this
exposure and excitement were rapidly wearing away the frail foundations
of health; and all that she feared was frankly expressed to the mother:
but Mrs. Lindsay having once more allowed the film of vanity to blind
the maternal eye, saw not the danger. The question, however, came to a
speedy issue; for, attending a party one evening where the rooms were
newly papered, and where, notwithstanding she felt chilly, her mother
would not allow of her being wrapped in a shawl, Emma took a violent
cold, which was immediately followed by a cough, and many other
symptoms of rapid decline. Greatly alarmed, Mrs. Lindsay consulted her
former physicians, and was again flattered with the hope that change of
air, change of scene, and other changes, would speedily produce a
change of health.

Emma knew the history of her family, and understood well why she was
hurried from land to sea, and from thence to other places remote from
her home. Dora was not allowed to accompany her, because the physician
said that her "long face" would be an incalculable injury; but that
face, always beaming with the soul's deep interest and affection, was
ever present to the sick girl. Through many a night-watch of suffering
and feverish anxiety, those loving, earnest eyes seemed looking into
her own; and Emma would say to her sister Martha, "Dear Dora! how I
long to see her! she loves me, and prays for me; it seems to me that
with Dora near I should not be afraid to die."

Thus Emma talked; and the sensible, affectionate Martha saw that change
of air and change of scene could not benefit her young sister, while
her mind was so fevered and tossed; she therefore entreated her mother