CHAPTER VIII. EDNA'S CONVALESCENCE. "Thou bring'st no tidings of the better land, "And well I deem, that, from the brighter side W. C. BRYANT. DR. HOWELL sat for several minutes by his office fire after he had read his wife's letter, whistling softly, and gazing as intently at the glowing coals as if he saw therein the means to gratify her ambitious desires. The doctor was not wealthy, and his house was neither large nor elegant; but it was pleasantly situated, overlooking the harbor of Hanthrop and several suburban villages. Mrs. Howell and Miss Goodenow argued that the doctor's lucrative profession ought to maintain them in a style as handsome as that of their most wealthy neighbors, inasmuch as their own income relieved him from some heavy expenditures; but the doctor's tastes were quiet and refined, and he never willingly spent a dollar of his income for the sake of keeping up appearances, or imitating the fashions of his more wealthy townsmen. He gave liberally to public charities, while his heart was especially open to the cries of the needy in every avenue of want. There was scarcely an orphan, or widow, or poor laborer in Hanthrop, but had reason to bless his name. If, while reading Mrs. Howell's letter, the doctor had wished for the means to procure for her a more elegant home, and those expensive luxuries which her worldly ambition coveted, it must be confessed that the longer he whistled, and the more intently he studied the coals, the more determined he became to live quietly in his pleasant, comfortable home, and so to husband his income that his charities might rather be increased than diminished. He had not much faith in Ralph Goodenow's investments, but he dared not be as plain and emphatic in the unfolding of his sceptical opinions to his wife, as he might have been, had she not so often taunted him with his old-fashioned ideas, and his want of business capacity; and acknowledging to himself that he knew much more of the "ills that flesh is heir to" than of the money market more of poverty and suffering than of the ways and means by which small fortunes are expanded—his reply to his wife's letter lacked much of his characteristic firmness and decision. He advised her to leave her money in the Merchants' Bank, it being as secure there as human sagacity and prudence could devise, and if not quite as productive as fancy stocks, in his opinion much safer. He thought if she and Louise invested in the stocks of the "Eureka Copper-mining Company," they would procure wings for their inheritance which would waft it beyond their grasp. And then he reminded them both of the unhealthy mental excitement which the fluctuations of the stock market would occasion, and entreated them to be content with their present competency-to seek for pleasure and happiness in the quiet and rational paths which Providence opened for them, and not to covet that which might only impoverish the soul while gratifying the lusts of the eye. But having no control over the property of his wife and step-daughter, he could do no less, after giving them his advice, than remit to them the amount they had desired. Mrs. Howell felt that her husband's professional habits rendered his advice almost valueless compared with her brother-in-law's, and thinking, too, that he had always been wanting in ambition and a due regard for the fashions of this world, (excepting, of course, when he had aspired to the honor of an alliance with her ladyship), and that this very want of ambition would disqualify him to advise in. money matters-her affections captivated by the elegances of her brother's establishment - her reason dazed by his talk of stocks, investments, and rapidly-made fortunesand her fancy excited by brilliant pictures of the glory, honor, and power of wealth—perhaps it was quite natural that both mother and daughter should rely upon the judg ment of Ralph Goodenow, rather than the doctor's. However, shortly after Dr. Howell's remittance reached them, they were rejoicing in the possession of twelve thousand dollars' worth of shares in the "Eureka." We will leave them for a few weeks to the enjoyment of such pitiable and paltry pleasures as selfish hearts can gain in the pursuit of fashionable follies, and to the fanciful castles which they built upon the sands of anticipated wealth, and turn to the chamber where Edna Shreve is carefully attended by the doctor and Diantha. The new year brought to the doctor's household a stronger hope that Edna would rally than had previously brightened the cloud which hovered over her. For nine days she had scarcely recognized one of her anxious attendants, but in her unconscious ravings had sometimes imagined herself in Smyrna-sometimes upon the sinking wreck and occasionally, when Diantha's patient hands were employed about the ch 'd, she fancied herself once more in her mother's arms. But on the morning of the ninth day after her removal from the Bonsecour, Mrs. Bartlette reported her as having been in a quiet sleep for several hours. The doctor found her pulse feeble, but there were a moisture upon her skin and a quietness in her slumber, as well as a steadiness in the languid movements of her blood, that greatly encouraged him. "Her symptoms are much more favorable this morning, Mrs. Bartlette; leave your patient now with Diantha until you are called-you are needing rest;" and, turning to Diantha, the doctor continued: "If Edna doesn't wake within an hour, you must rouse her gently, and give her a spoonful of gruel and a few drops from this phial. The most judicious and watchful care will be needed for a few days to prevent her from sinking with exhaustion; but I trust, with the blessing of God, we shall bring her safely through. And then how shall I reward my Daisy for her devotion to this stranger?" "Dear father, you cannot think I want any reward but your approval?" "No, Daisy, no; excepting the commendation of One who has enjoined us to 'entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.' The spirit which is cultivated and developed by deeds of charity and selfdenial is always a good angel in our hearts, even if the recipients of our charities prove unworthy and ungrateful." When Diantha found it necessary to rouse her little patient, she sat down upon the couch, and raised the frail figure in her arms, singing softly meanwhile a soothing passage. Few voices possessed, both in singing and speaking, more of strength, sweetness, and tender pathos than Diantha's. Edna's dark eyes opened, and for a moment gazed eagerly at the singer; then, with a look of disappointment, she turned, sighing, with a hopeless voice, "O, I thought it was mamma singing. I must have been dreaming." "Did your mamma often sing to you?" "Yes, and your voice is like hers." "I am glad of that, because it will give you more pleasure. You shall hear me sing as often as you wish." "Where am I? and who are you?" asked the child, looking at the room and at Diantha with wondering yet conscious eyes. "You are in Dr. Howell's home, and you will find this a charming room when you are able to sit up and look around. Can't you guess who I am now?" "You are the doctor's daughter, who came to see me at the hospital." "Yes; I see you have not forgotten me. I shall not permit you to talk much to-day; but after you have taken some of this gruel, I shall sit by you, and sing a little now and then, just to give you something agreeable to think of. You musn't have a care nor a thought about yourself; but remember God has provided friends for you, and brought you to this quiet, pleasant room; and now we only want you to rest and get strong." An expression of trust and gratitude crept into Edna's face, and a few tears trickled slowly from her eyes; but they seemed to Diantha like the softening, revivifying showers of early spring, instead of the devastating storms that had shaken her frail form ever since the wreck. For several days after the fever left her, Edna lay in a state of weakness and exhaustion, which scarcely permitted her to speak; but the few words she uttered showed that she was keenly sensitive to all the kindness that surrounded her, and deeply grateful. Her wistful eyes followed every movement of Diantha during these days of lassitude; and though she submitted to Mrs. Bartlette's |