“Dear, good aunt Rachel,—­I have come to Old Virginia to try and shake off an uncomfortable cough which has haunted me all winter.  The Northern quacks can do nothing for me.  One ray of this delicious sunshine is worth all their nostrums.  I was not prepared to find mamma helpless, or I should not have descended upon her so unceremoniously.  Being here, I cannot retreat in good order or with safety to my health, nor without wounding her.  Frederic must return to Philadelphia next week, by which time I hope to be quite invigorated.  Now for my audacious proposal.  Can you come over and tell me how to get well in the quickest and least troublesome way?  Dear Auntie! you loved me once.  When you see what a poor, spiritless shadow I have grown—­or lessened—­to be, you will care a little bit for me again, for the sake of lang syne.”

Mrs. Sutton wiped her spectacles and gave the note to her niece.

“There is but one thing for me to do, you see, my dear.  Jack!  I shall be ready in twenty minutes.”

If the line of duty wavered before her sight during the three-mile drive, it lay straight and distinct ahead of her when she stood in Rosa’s chamber.

“My child!” she ejaculated, upon the threshold “you did not tell me that you were confined to your bed!”

“I ought not to be!”

The rebellious pout and tone were Rosa’s, as were also the black eyes—­unnaturally large and bright though they were—­but the pretty lips were wan, and strained by lines of pain; the pomegranate flush was no longer variable, and was nestled in hollows, and the hands were wasted to translucency.

“I am quite strong enough to be up, and would be, if my tyrannical doctors and their tractable tool, my lord and master, had not decreed that I shall lie here until midday, if I am very obedient; eat my meals; take their poisonous medicines, and abstain from coughing.  If I offend in any of these particulars I am not to rise until three o’clock—­when they are in an especially glum humor—­not at all that day.  But now you are here, we shall combat them valorously.  Dear Auntie!” putting the thin arms about the old lady’s plump neck, and laughing through a spring rain of tears, “how good and safe it is to be with you again!  And you are the same kind, lovely darling! no older by a day—­no uglier by a solitary wrinkle!  I couldn’t sleep last night, for fearing you would not come to me!”

“You should not have doubted it, dear!” said the motherly voice, blithe as affectionate, while soft, agile fingers undid the tight embrace, and commenced, from the force of habit, to arrange the tumbled bed-clothes.  “Wherever I can be of most use is the place in which I wish to be.”

“I know you have always lived for others,” answered Rosa, with an involuntary sigh, a shadow glooming her eyes.

“For whom else should I live and work?” laughed Mrs. Sutton, in her cheerful, guileless fashion.  “My personal wants are few and easily supplied, and I like to be busy.  I account it a privilege to be able to fuss about my friends when they are ailing.”