Mrs. Darlington went up to the chamber of Mrs. Marion.  On the bed lay Willy, his face flushed with fever, and his eyes wearing a glassy lustre.

“Do you feel sick, my dear?” asked Mrs. Darlington, as she laid her hand on his burning forehead.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the child.

“There are you sick?”

“My head aches.”

“Is your throat sore?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very sore?”

“It hurts me so that I can hardly swallow.”

“What do you think ails him?” asked the mother, in anxious tones.

“It’s hard to say, Mrs. Marion; but, if it were my case, I would send for a doctor.  Who is your physician?”

“Dr. M——.”

“If you would like to have him called in, I will send the waiter to his office.”

Mrs. Marion looked troubled and alarmed.

“My husband doesn’t think it any thing serious,” said she.  “I wanted him to go for the doctor.”

“Take my advice, and send for a physician,” replied Mrs. Darlington.

“If you will send for Dr. M——­, I will feel greatly obliged,” said Mrs. Marion.

The doctor was sent for immediately.  He did not come for two hours, in which time Willy had grown much worse.  He looked serious, and answered all questions evasively.  After writing a prescription, he gave a few directions, and said he would call again in the evening.  At his second visit, he found his patient much worse; and, on the following morning, pronounced it a case of scarlatina.

Already, Willy had made a friend in every member of Mrs. Darlington’s family, and the announcement of his dangerous illness was received with acute pain.  Miriam took her place beside Mrs. Marion in the sick chamber, all her sympathies alive, and all her fears awakened; and Edith and her mother gave every attention that their other duties in the household would permit.

Rapidly did the disease, which had fixed itself upon the delicate frame of the child, run its fatal course.  On the fourth day he died in the arms of his almost frantic mother.

Though Mrs. Marion had been only a short time in the house, yet she had already deeply interested the feelings of Mrs. Darlington and her two eldest daughters, who suffered with her in the affliction almost as severely as if they had themselves experienced a bereavement; and this added to the weight, already painfully oppressive, that rested upon them.

The nearer contact into which the family of Mrs. Darlington and the bereaved mother were brought by this affliction, discovered to the former many things that strengthened the repugnance first felt towards Mr. Marion, and awakened still livelier sympathies for his suffering wife.

One evening, a week after the body of the child was borne out by the mourners and laid to moulder in its kindred dust, the voice of Mr. Marion was heard in loud, angry tones.  He was alone with his wife in their chamber.  This chamber was next to hat of Edith and Miriam, where they, at the time, happened to be.  What he said they could not make out; but they distinctly heard the voice of Mrs. Marion, and the words—­