“Camfire!” said Aunt Hildy, and I stood powerless to move or speak.  I saw Louis lay her on the sofa, and thought she was dead; the room grew dark, and I forced myself to feel my way to the door, and leaning against it would have fallen had not father put his arm about me and led me through into the entry where I could get some air.  When the sickening swimming feeling left me, and the mist fell from my eyes, I was strong enough to do something, and kneeling by the side of the motionless figure, felt her pulse, or rather tried vainly to find it, and put my cheek to her mouth, whence came no breath.

“Oh!  Clara darling, little mother, speak to us, our hearts are breaking!  Oh, Louis! get hot water and flannels, chafe her limbs, put a hot cloth over the stomach and chest; she is not dead,” and putting my head down, I breathed full, long breaths into her nostrils.

“’Taint no use,” said Aunt Hildy, “but we must do it,” and she worked with a will.

“That poor angel woman is done gone,” said Matthias.  “She couldn’t stan’ it.  Oh, de Lord!” and he looked the picture of despair.

We were losing hope of resuscitation, and I sank on the floor beside Louis, who still knelt at the head of the lounge, when a faint sound came from her lips.  We held our breath and listened, and now in a low, weak voice she said: 

“I’ll go back, Louis Robert, to say good-bye; I can stay a little longer; oh! they feel so badly—­yes, I must go back,” and then long, deep sighing breaths were taken.  A little longer and her eyes opened—­“Louis, Emily, baby, friends, I am here.”

“Oh! little mother,” said Louis, “where is the trouble?”

She tried to smile, as if to cover all our fears, and said with effort: 

“I am weak; I could not hold together; get some of Aunt Hildy’s bitters,” and when the glass containing it was held to her lips, she drank eagerly.

“Take both hands, Louis; let the baby touch me.”

“Oh, Clara, don’t go!” I said, as I held little Emily near her.

“No, no, not now, but I want help to stay; keep the baby close.

“Matthias, don’t go home,” she said, and then, closing her eyes, lay so still and motionless I feared she would never move again.

A half hour had passed and she still looked so cold and white, when suddenly her eyes opened, and her voice was strong as she said: 

“I am better now, I have come clear back,—­help me to get up, dear boy,” and Louis put his arms around her to raise her; as he did so I saw a strange look pass over her face, and her hands were laid on her limbs.  She turned her beautiful eyes upon me, as if to say “don’t be frightened,” and said, “Please move my limbs, there is no feeling there—­they are paralyzed, and I am so glad it is not my hands.”  I moved them gently, and thought when she was really herself she would be able to use them.  She seemed now bright and cheerful as before.