Jem promised to do his best, and went to his work revolving the matter in his mind. He bade a tender adieu to his wife, looked in her pale face, and told her she must not worry, but remember what she had tried to teach Mrs. Blunt--to cast her burden on the Lord, and find anew that He would sustain her.

He hastened away, and Meg cleared her table, and went up-stairs to speak to her mother-in-law.

It could not have been more than half-an-hour afterwards that she and Mrs. Seymour were coming down together, and Meg had just reached the bottom step at her own landing, when a man's voice was heard asking in a loud voice as he came up--

"Does any one live here belonging to a man of the name of Seymour?"

"Yes," answered Meg and her mother both together.

"Because he's been run over near the Monument, and they've taken him to 'Guy's.'"

Meg gave one wild look at her mother, held out her arms to catch something, and fell fainting on the floor.

Towards afternoon Meg opened her eyes at the sound of a beloved voice.

"My girl," he said, "don't ye know me? Look up, sweetheart! Here's Jem.

And look what we've got sent us from our G.o.d! Meg, my girl, it was not your Jem as was hurt."

Meg gave a faint smile, and then she saw her mother-in-law bending over her, and putting into Jem's hand a spoon with something to give her.

She allowed him to feed her, and when the cup was empty she whispered--

"Jem, I thought----"

"You must not talk, my little woman; but now you're a bit better, would you like to see our little child? He was sent to us while you were so ill."

Meg tried to hold out her arms, but failed, and her mother-in-law laid a little babe in them. Meg said not a word, but pressed a kiss upon Jem's hand, and endeavoured to reach the downy little head. But she had no strength, and Mrs. Seymour, seeing her wish, and knowing too something else which neither of them guessed, raised the babe a little, that its mother's lips might touch its tiny face.

Meg was satisfied, and closed her eyes to sleep. "Husband and child,"

she thought, "who could be richer?" And then another thought came to rest her with its sweetness--"Who for your sakes became poor, that ye, through His poverty, might be rich."

Meg's lips moved, and Jem bent over her to hear.

"We'll teach him about Jesus first of all, Jem," she murmured; and as Jem a.s.sented, she slept.

But the little one was to be taken into the Shepherd's care at once. Meg was never to have her desire of herself teaching him the name she loved beyond all others.

Mrs. Seymour stood by and watched, unwilling to break the slumber which was like life to Meg, and knowing that nothing could be done for the babe better than lying in its mother's bosom.

And Jem sat watching too, realizing in a dim sort of way that he was indeed a father.

By-and-by his mother touched him on the shoulder.

"Jem," she whispered, cautioning him by a warning glance, "G.o.d is taking the little one to Himself; but I think Meg will do well if we can but keep her quiet."

Jem gave one look at her to take in the meaning of her words, and then he sat still, trying to realize and submit to what his G.o.d was sending.

When, after two long hours of watching on their part, and deep refreshing sleep on Meg's, she again opened her eyes and turned to her babe, the little spirit had already taken flight to the land where "their angels do alway behold the face of the Father which is in heaven."

"Meg, my girl," said Jem's voice, oh, so tenderly, "you'd be willin' to give him up into our Saviour's care if He was to ask it?"

"I think I would," she answered in a wondering tone, but looking up quite collectedly.

"Because I think the Good Shepherd has been callin' him, my dear."

Meg could turn her head now; she raised herself on her elbow, and gazed at the little face.

"Jem," she said helplessly, and laid her head back on her pillow with a sob.

Her mother-in-law bent over her.

"Let me take him for a little while, my child; it will be better so."

Meg made no objection, and her mother lifted the tiny form to her lap, and crossed its wee hands on its breast.

"May it go in my cradle, just for once?" asked Meg beseechingly.

And so he was laid in the little cot that Meg had prepared with such loving hands, and Jem put it on a chair by her side; and then he sat down again by her, and they both wept together.

After a long time Meg wiped away her tears.

"Jem," she said softly, "I can say it now: 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, _blessed_ be the name of the Lord.'"

Jem and his mother watched by her side till the clock in the other room struck twelve, and then Mrs. Seymour signed to him to go and take some rest.

But though not a word had been spoken nor a movement made, Meg started up.

"There it is again!"

"What, my dear?" asked Mrs. Seymour soothingly. "Lie down, and I'll see to it."

But Meg could not be silenced so.

"Jem," she urged, doing, however, as her mother wished, "Jem, you said you'd go and see about it. Oh, Jem dear, my heart will break!"

"I will, Meg," he answered at once. "You're bein' so ill put it out of my head. I'll go at once."

He rose, and his mother followed him out of the room.

"I think she's a bit light-headed, Jem; don't go out, my dear. What does she mean?"

"I know," answered Jem hurriedly. "Let me go, mother; I ought to have been there ever so long ago."

He went, and Meg lay wide awake listening. She took the gruel her mother brought her, and p.r.o.nounced herself much better. Often her eyes rested on the little cot, but she did not cry, nor did she say anything about it.

Once she asked hesitatingly--