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.

The day passed over the wretched family.  Ella lay on the bed in silence throughout, what appeared to her, the long and weary hours; the little boy called every few minutes for bread, and as his infant voice uttered the call, the agony of Mrs. Wentworth increased.  Thus was the day passed, and as the dusk of evening spread its mantle over the town, the soldier’s wife prepared to receive her summons for ejectment.  She was not kept waiting long.  No sooner had the darkness set in, than Mr. Elder, accompanied by another man, opened the door and entered the room.

“Well,” he said, “have you succeeded in procuring money to pay the rent.”

“I have not,” Mrs. Wentworth answered.

“I suppose you have made arrangements to go somewhere else then,” he remarked.

“No,” she replied.  “My child has been ill all day long, and I was compelled to remain here and attend to her wants.”

“That is very unfortunate,” Mr. Elder remarked, “for this gentleman,” pointing to the stranger who accompanied him, “has made arrangements to take the room, and will move into it to-night.”.

“Will he not wait until the morning,” she enquired.

“I do wot know,” he replied.  “Will you,” he asked, speaking to the man, “be willing to wait until to-morrow before you take possession?”

“Bo jabers!  I’ve got to leave my owld room to-night, and if I cannot git this I must take another that I can get in town,” answered the man, who was a rough and uneducated son of the Emerald Isle.

“That settles the matter, then,” observed Mr. Elder.  “You will have to leave,” he continued, addressing Mrs. Wentworth.  “You will perceive that I cannot lose a tenant through your remaining in the room to-night.”

“Och!” said the Irishman, “if the lady can’t lave to-night, shure ah’ I will take the other room, for be jabers I wouldn’t have a woman turned out of doors for me.”

“You need not fear about that, my good friend,” remarked Mr. Elder.  “Does the room suit you?”

“Yes!  It does well enough for myself and my children,” was the answer.

“Then you can consider yourself a tenant from to-night,” Mr. Elder said.  “Go and bring your things here.  By the time you return I shall have the room vacated and ready for you.”