But the reading of the books was postponed, for Dorrie began to droop again, and the faithful mother could scarcely be persuaded to leave her even for necessary food and sleep.  Mrs. Minturn, Katherine and Sadie were all tireless in their efforts to do something to lighten her burdens.  Many a delicacy found its way to the cottage to tempt the capricious appetite of the child; interesting incidents were treasured to relate to her, and many devices employed to shorten the weary hours.

But there came a time that tried them all, for, in spite of the greatest care and watchfulness, the girl contracted a sudden and violent cold, and became so seriously ill that Dr. Stanley—­though he gave no sign of his fears—­felt that the end was very near.

For three days he battled fiercely with the seeming destroyer, while her suffering drove them all to the verge of despair.

At sunset of the third day, while attempting to change her position, hoping to make her more comfortable, she suddenly lapsed into a semi-conscious state from which they could not arouse her.  When this condition had lasted for upwards of half an hour Mrs. Seabrook turned despairingly to her brother.

“Can you do nothing, Phillip?” she asked.

“I am afraid not, Emelie, except to continue giving the stimulants to try to keep the spark of life a little longer,” he returned with white lips.

His sister caught her breath sharply.

“Then—­will you give her up to—­Mrs. Minturn?” she cried, hoarsely.

He bent a look of surprised inquiry upon her.

“I am going to try it,” she went on, still in that unnatural tone.  “I am going to try to save my child, and—­I do not care who says ‘no.’”

Phillip Stanley went to her, took her white face between his hands and kissed her tenderly, as he said: 

“Very well, Emelie, I will go at once for her, and, from my soul, I am glad that you have taken this stand.”

He hurried from the house and went with all speed to the Minturn mansion.  He found Mrs. Minturn on the veranda, Katherine and her guests having gone for a walk.

“Will you come with me?” he asked.  “You are needed at once.”  He briefly explained the situation to her, and in less than five minutes they were both at Dorothy’s bedside.

“Oh, can you do anything for her?” helplessly moaned the heart-broken mother as the woman entered the room.

“Dear heart, God is our refuge.  He is the ‘strength of our life’; of whom shall we be afraid?” Mrs. Minturn quoted in calm, sweet tones, as she slipped a reassuring arm around Mrs. Seabrook’s waist; and, standing thus, she repeated the ninety-first psalm through to the end; then dropping her face upon her hand, she treated silently for ten minutes or more.

Meantime Dorothy’s half-opened lids had gently closed, hiding the sightless eyes, and she lay almost breathless upon her pillows.