Next morning little Mrs. Broughton was so much weaker that there was no question whether or not she should make another effort and get up. All she could do was to lie still, secretly hugging to her breast the fragments of Mattie's letter. She had not slept all night, she was worn out, but she was not unhappy; it was impossible for her to be that, when her loving mind pictured her Dick and his bride upon their honeymoon.
{{comment.content}}