“Home to die!” echoed Violet’s heart, and she clung about her grandfather’s neck, weeping almost convulsively.

Tears coursed down Molly’s cheeks also, and Eddie, hardly less overcome than his sister, asked tremulously, “How soon may we expect them, grandpa?”

“In about two days, I think; and my dear children, we must school ourselves to meet Lily with calmness and composure, lest we injure, by exciting and agitating her.  We must be prepared to find her more feeble than when she went away, and much exhausted by the fatigue of the journey.”

Worse than when she went away! and even then the doctors gave no hope!  It was almost as if they already saw her lying lifeless before them.

They wept themselves to sleep that night, and in the morning it was as though death had already entered the house; a solemn stillness reigned in all its rooms, and the quiet tread, the sad, subdued tones, the oft falling tear, attested the warmth of affection in which the dear, dying child was held.

A parlor car was speeding southward; its occupants, a noble looking man, a lovely matron, a blooming, beautiful girl of seventeen, a rosy babe in his nurse’s arms, and a pale, fragile, golden-haired, blue-eyed child of seven, lying now on a couch with her head in her mother’s lap, now resting in her father’s arms for a little.

She seemed the central figure of the group, all eyes turning ever and anon, upon her in tenderest solicitude, every ear attentive to her slightest plaint, every hand ready to minister to her wants.

She was very quiet, very patient, answering their anxious, questioning words and looks with many a sweet, affectionate smile or whisper of grateful appreciation of their ministry of love.

Sometimes she would beg to be lifted up for a moment that she might see the rising or setting sun, or gaze upon the autumnal glories of the woods, and as they drew near their journey’s end she would ask, “Are we almost there, papa? shall I soon see my own sweet home, and dear brothers and sisters?”

At last the answer was, “Yes, my darling; in a few moments we shall leave the car for our own easy carriage, and one short stage will take us home to Ion.”

Mr. Dinsmore, his son, and Arthur Conly met them at the station, and told how longingly their dear ones at home were looking for them.

The sun had set, and shadows began to creep over the landscape as the carriage stopped before the door and Lily was lifted out, borne into the house and gently laid upon her own little bed.

She was nearly fainting with fatigue and weakness, and dearly as the others were loved, father and mother had no eyes for any but her, no word of greeting, as the one bore her past, the other hastily followed, with the doctor and grandfather, to her room.

But Elsie and Vi were quickly locked in each other’s arms, mingling their tears together, while Rosie and the boys gathered round, awaiting their turn.