o then."

Clelia sat up, wiping her eyes and laughing.

"That isn't all," she said. "Senator Gilman wants to see you."

"Me!"

Sabrina rose and sat upright in bed. The color flooded her pale cheeks.
Her eyes dilated.

"Yes. He told Richmond you used to go to school together, and he's
coming down here on his way to the train. And sick or well, he said,
you'd got to see him."

Sabrina had put one shaking hand to her hair. "It's turned white," she
whispered.

But Clelia did not hear her. She had opened the chest at the foot of
the bed, and taken out a soft package delicately wrapped. She pulled out
a score of pins and shook the shimmering folds of the blue dress. Then
she glanced at Sabrina still sitting there, the color flooding her
cheeks again with their old pinkness.

"Oh!" breathed Clelia, in rapture at the dress, and again at the sweet
rose-bloom in Sabrina's face. Then she calmed herself, remembering this
was a sick chamber, though every moment the airs of life seemed
entering. She brought the dress to the bedside. "You put your arm in,
Sabrina," she coaxed.

Sabrina did it. She moved in a daze, and presently she was lying in her
bed clothed in blue and white, her soft hair piled above her head, and
her eyes wide with some unconfessed emotion. But to Clelia, she was
accustomed to look vivid; life was her portion always. The girl sped out
of the room, and came back presently, her arms full of summer flowers,
tiger-lilies, larkspur, monkshood, and herbs that, being bruised, gave
out odors. Sabrina's eyes questioned her. Clelia tossed the flowers in a
heap on the table.

"What you doin' that for?" asked Sabrina.

"I don't know," answered the girl, in a whisper. "There's no time to put
'em in water. I want to have things pretty, that's all. You take your
drops, dear. They've come."

But Sabrina lay there, an image of beauty in a sea of calm.

"I don't want any drops," she said. "I shouldn't think o' dyin' now."

Clelia went out, and presently Sabrina heard her young voice with its
note of happiness.

"In this way, sir," she was saying. "Yes, Rich, you stay in the garden.
I'll be there."

Senator Gilman, bowing his head under the low lintel, was coming in. He
walked up to the bedside, and Sabrina's eyes appraised him. He was a
remarkable-looking man, with the flowing profile of a selected type, and
thick gray hair tossed back from his fine forehead. He sat down by her.

"Well, Bina," said he.

Th