"There is no necessity for anyone to remain with me," she said. "Barker shall sleep in the next room, and if I require assistance I can call her."
So it was arranged; and Miss Pamela took up her position by Marigold's bedside.
She never forgot that night as long as she lived. At first Marigold was conscious of her presence; but later she grew more feverish, and whispered to herself in disjointed sentences. Her aunt sat by and listened. The child evidently fancied herself back in her London home, for she talked of her brothers, calling them by name. The accents of her faint voice sounded full of distress and trouble. Seeing the condition she was in, a cold sensation of terror struck to Miss Pamela's heart; and she fell on her knees by the bedside and prayed to the Heavenly Father to spare her this bright, young life. She would not try to keep the child from her mother; she would be willing never to see her again, if only God would make her well!
At length Miss Pamela rose from her knees, and bent over Marigold, who was whispering her mother's name tenderly—longingly.
"Marigold, my dear," Miss Pamela said softly, laying her cool hand on the fevered brow, "do you know me?"
"Yes, Aunt Pamela," whispered the voice that was weak, and husky by reason of the panting breath.
"Would it make you very happy if I sent for your mother to come and nurse you?"
"Yes—oh yes!"
"Then, when morning comes, I will send for her first thing!"
A smile of perfect contentment crossed Marigold's face, and with the comforting thought that her mother was coming to her she passed the remainder of the night in far less distress of mind.