Janets Love and Service | Page 2

with eyes and lips that smiled, the pleasant fancies came and went. Not a shadow crossed her brow. Not a fear came to dim the light by which she gazed into the future that she planned. So she sat till her dream was dreamed out, and then, with a sigh, in which there was no echo of care or pain, she woke to the present, and turned to her book again.
"I might see by the fire," she said, and in a minute she was seated on the floor, her head leaning on her hands, and her eye fastened on the open page.
"Miss Graeme," said Janet, softly coming in with a child in her arms, "your mamma's no' weel, and here's wee Rosie wakened, and wantin' her. You'll need to take her, for I maun awa'."
The book fell from the girl's hand, as she started up with a frightened face.
"What ails mamma, Janet? Is she very ill?"
"What should ail her but the one thing?" said Janet, impatiently. "She'll be better the morn I hae nae doubt."
Graeme made no attempt to take the child, who held out her hands toward her.
"I must go to her, Janet."
"Indeed, Miss Graeme, you'll do nothing o' the kind. Mrs Burns is with her, and the doctor, and it's little good you could do her just now. Bide still where you are, and take care o' wee Rosie, and hearken if you hear ony o' the ither bairns, for none o' you can see your mamma the night."
Graeme took her little sister in her arms and seated herself on the floor again. Janet went out, and Graeme heard her father's voice in the passage. She held her breath to listen, but he did not come in as she hoped he would. She heard them both go up-stairs again, and heedless of the prattle of her baby sister, she still listened eagerly. Now and then the sound of footsteps overhead reached her, and in a little Janet came into the kitchen again, but she did not stay to be questioned. Then the street door opened, and some one went out, and it seemed to Graeme a long time before she heard another sound. Then Janet came in again, and this time she seemed to have forgotten that there was any one to see her, for she was wringing her hands, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks. Graeme's heart stood still, and her white lips could scarcely utter a sound.
"Janet!--tell me!--my mother."
"Save us lassie! I had no mind of you. Bide still, Miss Graeme. You munna go there," for Graeme with her little sister in her arms was hastening away. "Your mamma's no waur than she's been afore. It's only me that doesna ken about the like o' you. The minister keeps up a gude heart. Gude forgie him and a' mankind."
Graeme took a step toward the door, and the baby, frightened at Janet's unwonted vehemence, sent up a shrill cry. But Janet put them both aside, and stood with her back against the door.
"No' ae step, Miss Graeme. The auld fule that I am; 'gin the lassie had been but in her bed. No, I'll no' take the bairn, sit down there, you'll be sent for if you're needed. I'll be back again soon; and you'll promise me that you'll no leave this till I bid you. Miss Graeme, I wouldna deceive you if I was afraid for your mamma. Promise me that you'll bide still."
Graeme promised, awed by the earnestness of Janet, and by her own vague terror as to her mother's mysterious sorrow, that could claim from one usually so calm, sympathy so intense and painful. Then she sat down again to listen and to wait. How long the time seemed! The lids fell down over the baby's wakeful eyes at last, and Graeme, gathering her own frock over the little limbs, and murmuring loving words to her darling, listened still.
The flames ceased to leap and glow on the hearth, the shadows no longer danced upon the wall, and gazing at the strange faces and forms that smiled and beckoned to her from the dying embers, still she listened. The red embers faded into white, the dark forest with its sunny glades and long retreating vistas, the hills, and rocks, and clouds, and waterfalls, that had risen among them at the watcher's will, changed to dull grey ashes, and the dim dawn of the summer morning, gleamed in at last upon the weary sleeper. The baby still nestled in her arms, the golden hair of the child gleaming among the dark curls of the elder sister as their cheeks lay close together. Graeme moaned and murmured in her sleep, and clasped the baby closer, but she did not wake till Janet's voice aroused her.