There was nothing to fear any more. Elly was
sleeping quietly on her pillow, the fiery spots had
faded out of her cheeks, her skin looked fresh
and moist, the fever had left her. Death had not

12—2



180 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH.
yet laid his oold hand on the poor little prey,
he had not come while the nurse was sleeping —
he had not called her as yet. I speak in this
way from long hahit and foolishness. For in
troth, had he come, would it have been so sad,
would it have been so hard a £ftte — ^would it ha^e
been death with his skeleton's head, and his
theatrical grave-clothes, and his scythe, and his
hour-glass ? Would it have been this, or simply
the great law of Nature working peacefully in its
course — only the seed fsJling into the ground,
only the decree of that same merciful Power which
sent us into the world? — ^us men and women,
who are glad to exist, and gratefcil for our own
creation, into a world where we love to tarry for
a while?

Jean Dampier, sitting there in the dawning,
thought something of all this, and yet how could
she help acknowledging the mercy which spared
her and hers the pang of having £Bitally injured
this poor little EUy, whom she had learnt to love



THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 181

with all her tender old heart ? It seemed a deli-
yerance, a blessing a hundred times beyond their
deserts.
She had been prepared for the worst, and yet
she had shrank with terror firom the chastisement.
