Lucy put the obnoxious night shade out of the room, and went back to the bedside.  For a long time she was unsuccessful, but at last Miss Webster consented to have her foot dressed, and even cheered her young nurse by the acknowledgment that she did it very well, considering; and thus the night wore away.

Quite early Emilie was at her post, and was grieved to see that Miss Webster still looked haggard and suffering, and as if she had not slept.  In answer to her inquiries, Lucy said that she had no rest all night.

“Rest! and how can I rest, Miss Schomberg?  I can’t afford to lose my lodgers, and lose them I shall.”

“Only try and keep quiet,” said Emilie, “and I will see that they do not suffer from want of attendance. You cannot help them, do consent to leave all thought, all management, to those who can think and manage.  May aunt Agnes come and nurse you, and attend to the housekeeping?”

“Yes,” was reluctantly, and not very graciously uttered.

“Well then, Lucy will have time to attend to you.  I would gladly nurse you myself, but you know I may not neglect Miss Parker; now take this draught, and try and sleep.”

“Miss Schomberg,” said the poor woman, “you won’t lack friends to nurse you on a sick bed; I have none.”

“Miss Webster, if I were to be laid on a sick bed, and were to lose aunt Agnes, I should be alone in a country that is not my own country, without money and without friends; but we may both of us have a friend who sticketh closer than a brother, think of him, ma’am, now, and ask him to make your bed in your sickness.”

She took the feverish hand of the patient as she said this, who, bursting into a flood of tears, replied, “Ah, Miss Schomberg!  I don’t deserve it of you, and that is the truth; but keep my hand, it feels like a friend’s, hold it, will you, and I think I shall sleep a little while;” and Emilie stood and held her hand, stood till she was faint and weary, and then withdrawing it as gently as ever mother unloosed an infant’s hold, she withdrew, shaded the light from the sleeper’s eyes, and stole out of the room, leaving the sufferer at ease, and in one of those heavy sleeps which exhaustion and illness often produce.

Her visit to the kitchen was most discouraging.  Betsey was only just down, and the kettle did not boil, nor were any preparations made for the lodgers’ breakfast, to which it only wanted an hour.  Emilie could have found it in her heart to scold the lazy, selfish girl, who had enjoyed a sound sleep all night, whilst Lucy had gone unrefreshed to her daily duties, but she forebore.  “Scolding never does answer,” thought Emilie, “and I won’t begin to-day, but I must try and reform this girl at all events, by some means, and that shall be done at once.”

“Come, Betsey,” said Emilie pleasantly, “now, we shall see what sort of a manager you will be; you must do all you can to make things tidy and comfortable for the lodgers.  Is their room swept and dusted?”