ilie spoke earnestly, so earnestly that Edith asked if she were grown
very fond of that "sour old maid all of a sudden."

"Very fond! No Edith; but it does not, or ought not to require us to be
very fond of people to do our duty to them."

"Well, I don't see what duty you owe to that mean creature, and I see no
reason why I should lose my walk again to-night. You treat people you
don't love better than those you do it seems; or else your professions
of loving me mean nothing. All day long you have been after Fred's
balloon, and now I suppose mean to be all night long after Miss
Webster's foot."

Emilie made no reply; she could only have reproached Edith for
selfishness and temper at least equal to Miss Webster's, but telling
Lucy she should soon return, hastened to Mr. Parker's house, followed by
Edith; he was soon at the patient's side, and as Emilie foretold, it was
a case more for an attentive nurse than a skilful doctor. He promised to
send her an application, but, "Miss Schomberg," said he, "sleep is what
she wants; she tells me she has had no rest since the accident occurred.
What is to be done?" "Can you not send for a neighbour, Miss Webster, or
some one to attend to your household, and to nurse you too. If you worry
yourself in this way you will be quite ill."

Poor Miss Webster was ill, she knew it; and having neither neighbour
nor friend within reach, she did what was very natural in her case, she
took up her handkerchief and began to cry. "Oh, come, Miss Webster,"
said Emilie, cheerfully, "I will get you to bed, and Lucy shall come
when the shop is closed, and to-morrow I will get aunt Agnes to come and
nurse you. Keep up your spirits."

"Ah, it is very well to talk of keeping up spirits, and as to your aunt
Agnes, there never was any love lost between us. No thank you, Miss
Schomberg, no thank you. If I may just trouble you to help me to the
side of my bed, I can get in, and do very well alone. _Good_ night."
Emilie stood looking pitifully at her. "I hope I don't keep you, Miss
Schomberg, pray don't stay, you cannot help me," and here Miss Webster
rose, but the agony of putting her foot to the ground was so great that
she could not restrain a cry, and Emilie, who saw that the poor sufferer
was like a child in helplessness, and like a child, moreover, in
petulance, calmly but resolutely declared her intention of remaining
until Lucy could leave the shop.

Having helped her landlady into bed, she ran do