She walked quickly up the hill, and entered the field where the cottage stood.  There she paused.  She did not dare to knock at the cottage door; she could not bear to speak to Mrs. Eden; she dreaded the sight of Mrs. Grey or Kezia, and she gazed wistfully at the house, longing, yet fearing, to know what was passing within it.  She wandered up and down the field, and at last was trying to make up her mind to return home, when she heard footsteps behind her, and turning, saw Mr. Devereux advancing along the path at the other end of the field.

‘Have you been to inquire for Agnes?’ said he.

’I could not.  I long to know, but I cannot bear to ask, I cannot venture in.’

‘Do you like to go in with me?’ said her cousin.  ’I do not think you will see anything dreadful.’

‘Thank you,’ said Lily, ‘I would give anything to know about her.’

‘How you tremble! but you need not be afraid.’

He knocked at the door, but there was no answer; he opened it, and going to the foot of the stairs, gently called Mrs. Eden, who came down calm and quiet as ever, though very pale.

‘How is she?’

‘No better, sir, thank you, light-headed still.’

‘Oh!  Mrs. Eden, I am so sorry,’ sobbed Lily.  ’Oh! can you forgive me?’

‘Pray do not take on so, Miss,’ said Mrs. Eden.  ’You have always been a very kind friend to her, Miss Lilias.  Do not take on so, Miss.  If it is His will, nothing could have made any difference.’

Lily was going to speak again, but Mr. Devereux stopped her, saying, ‘We must not keep Mrs. Eden from her, Lily.’

‘Thank you, sir, her aunt is with her,’ said Mrs. Eden, ’and no one is any good there now, she does not know any one.  Will you walk up and see her, sir? will you walk up, Miss Lilias?’

Lily silently followed her cousin up the narrow stairs to the upper room, where, in the white-curtained bed, lay the little child, tossing about and moaning, her cheeks flushed with fever, and her blue eyes wide open, but unconscious.  A woman, whom Lily did not at first perceive to be Mrs. Naylor, rose and courtsied on their entrance.  Agnes’s new Bible was beside her, and her mother told them that she was not easy if it was out of sight for an instant.

At this moment Agnes called out, ‘Mother,’ and Mrs. Eden bent down to her, but she only repeated, ‘Mother’ two or three times, and then began talking: 

’Kissy, I want my bag—­where is my thimble—­no, not that I can’t remember—­my catechism-book—­my godfathers and godmothers in my baptism, wherein I was made a member—­my Christian name—­my name, it is my Christian name; no, that is not it —

“It is a name by which I am
   Writ in the hook of life,
And here below a charm to keep,
   Unharmed by sin and strife;
As often as my name I hear,
   I hear my Saviour’s voice."’

Then she began the Creed, but, breaking off, exclaimed, ’Where is my Bible, mother, I shall read it to-morrow—­read that pretty verse about “I am the good Shepherd—­the Lord is my Shepherd, therefore can I lack nothing—­yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art within me.”