And the humble Irish nurse performed those sacred acts which, by the power of the Word made flesh, sanctify the soul.
George replaced the basin, kissed the little creature upon whose head the baptismal water was still glistening, and returned to his own room as silently as he came.
Isabel slept heavily and uneasily, and woke unrefreshed and with a vague sense of apprehension. She rose on hearing the bell ring for family prayers, and hearing her brothers go down-stairs she dressed languidly and went into the next room.
The babe still lay upon the pillow in the nurse's lap, and, although the breakfast-bell had already rung, Mary was sitting in the window, looking silently and with folded arms at the sick child.
"Why, he seems so sick," said Isabel, with a tone and look of pain and alarm.
"Yes," said Mary, "he is very sick."
Mary had always helped her mother more than Belle in taking care of the little ones, and she knew better than her sister how to judge of illness. Isabel asked several questions, to which Mrs. Reilly gave only the most vague and cautious answers. The faint ring of silver was heard in the hall.
"There is your breakfast, Belle, dear," said Mary, "go into your own room and take some coffee; you ought not to be standing about here without having taken anything." "O dear!" said Isabel, "I don't want any breakfast. I wonder when Philip will come, and what will he say to see the baby so sick?"
After a few moments, she followed her sister's advice. Mechanically she put the sugar and cream into the coffee, and had just drunk it off, and pushed away the little stand, when the door opened and Philip entered.