en; but it is too late now, dear. I
have not strength enough to interest myself in anything."

The truth of this complaint was painfully obvious. Pamela's day was
done. She lay, half effaced among her down pillows, as weak and
helpless-looking as a snowdrop whose stem is broken. The life that was
left in her was the merest remnant of life. It was as if one could see
the last sands running down in the glass of time.

Violet sat by her side, and pressed her cold hands in both her own.
Mrs. Winstanley was very cold, although the log had blazed up fiercely,
and the room seemed stifling to the traveller who had come out of the
cool night air.

"Dear mother, there will be no pleasure for me in being married if you
do not take an interest in my _trousseau_," pleaded Vixen, trying to
cheer the invalid by dwelling on the things her soul had most loved in
health.

"Do not talk about it, my dear," her mother exclaimed peevishly. "I
don't know where the money is to come from. Theodore's bill was
positively dreadful. Poor Conrad had quite a struggle to pay it. You
will be rich when you are of age, but we are awfully poor. If we do not
save money during the next few years we shall be destitute. Conrad says
so. Fifteen hundred a year, and a big house like this to maintain. It
would be starvation. Conrad has closed Theodore's account. I am sure I
don't know where your _trousseau_ is to come from."

Here the afflicted Pamela began to sob hysterically, and Vixen found it
hard work to comfort her.

"My dearest mother, how can you be poor and I rich?" she said, when the
invalid had been tranquillised, and was lying helpless and exhausted.
"Do you suppose I would not share my income with you? Rorie has plenty
of money. He would not want any of mine. You can have it all, if you
like."

"You talk like a child, Violet. You know nothing of the world. Do you
think I would take your money, and let people say I robbed my own
daughter? I have a little too much self-respect for that. Conrad is
doing all he can to make our future comfortable. I have been foolish
and extravagant. But I shall never be so any more. I do not care about
dress or society now. I have outlived those follies."

"Dear mother, I cannot bear to hear you talk like that," said Vixen,
feeling that when her mother left off caring about fine dresses she
must be getting ready for that last garment which we must all wear some
day, the fashion whereof changes but little. "Why