And Amelia found herself in bed in her own home.
AT HOME AGAIN.
By the side of Amelia's bed stood a little table, on which were so many big bottles of medicine, that Amelia smiled to think of all the stock must have had to swallow during the month past. There was an open Bible on it too, in which Amelia's mother was reading, whilst tears trickled slowly down her pale cheeks. The poor lady looked so thin and ill, so worn with sorrow and watching, that Amelia's heart smote her, as if some one had given her a sharp blow.
"Mamma, Mamma! Mother, my dear, dear Mother!"
The tender, humble, loving tone of voice was so unlike Amelia's old imperious snarl, that her mother hardly recognized it; and when she saw Amelia's eyes full of intelligence instead of the delirium of fever, and that (though older and thinner and rather pale) she looked wonderfully well, the poor worn-out lady could hardly restrain herself from falling into hysterics for very joy.
"Dear Mamma, I want to tell you all about it," said Amelia, kissing the kind hand that stroked her brow.
But it appeared that the doctor had forbidden conversation; and though Amelia knew it would do her no harm, she yielded to her mother's wish and lay still and silent.
"Now, my love, it is time to take your medicine."
But Amelia pleaded—"Oh, Mamma, indeed I don't want any medicine. I am quite well, and would like to get up."
"Ah, my dear child!" cried her mother, "what I have suffered in inducing you to take your medicine, and yet see what good it has done you."