e made a rotary motion with
her arms, which I attempted to stop, but her features contracted so
terribly, I let her alone.

"Mustn't touch her," said Temperance, whose efforts to relieve her
were confined to replacing the coverings of the bed, and drawing her
nightgown over her bosom, which she often threw off again. Her breath
scarcely stirred her breast. I thought more than once she did not
breathe at all. Its delicate, virgin beauty touched me with a holy
pity. We sat by her bed in silence a long time, and although it was
freezing cold, did not suffer. Suddenly she turned her head and
closed her eyes. Temperance softly pulled up the clothes over her and
whispered: "It is over for this time; but Lord, how awful it is! I
hoped she was cured of these spells."

In a few minutes she asked, "What time is it?"

"It must be about eleven," Temperance replied; but it was nearly four.
She dozed again, but, opening her eyes presently, made a motion toward
the window.

"There's no help for it," muttered Temperance, "she must go."

I understood her, and put my arm under Verry's neck to raise her.
Temperance wrapped the quilt round her, and we carried her to the
window. Temperance pushed open the pane; an icy wind blew against us.

"It is the winter that kills little Verry," she said, in a childlike
voice. "God's breath is cold over the world, and my life goes. But the
spring is coming; it will come back."

I looked at Temperance, whose face was so corrugated with the desire
for crying and the effort to keep from it, that for the life of me,
I could not help smiling. As soon as I smiled I laughed, and then
Temperance gave way to crying and laughing together. Veronica stared,
and realized the circumstances in a second. She walked back to the
bed, laughing faintly, too. "Go to bed, do. You have been here a long
time, have you?"

I left Temperance tucking the clothes about her, kissing her, and
calling her "deary and her best child."

I could not go to bed at once, for Fanny was on my hearth before the
fire, which she had rekindled, watching the boiling of something.

"She has come to, hasn't she?" stirring the contents of the kettle. "I
knew it was going to be so with her, she was so mad with me. She is
like the Old Harry before she has a turn, and like an angel after.
I am fond of people who have their ups and downs. I have seen her so
before. She asked me to keep the doors locked once; they are locked
now. But I couldn