de her.

Maria had locked her doors, but she had forgotten her window, which
opened on an upper balcony, and was easily accessible to any one
climbing out of the hall window. Evelyn had been listening at her
door and had heard her sobs. Knowing from experience that her sister
meant what she said, she had climbed out of the hall window, scudded
along the little balcony, and into Maria's window. She flung herself
down on the floor, and wept so violently that Maria was alarmed.

"Why, baby, darling, what is it? Tell sister," she said, hushing her
own sobs.

The child continued to sob. Her whole little frame was shaken
convulsively.

"Tell sister," whispered Maria.

"I'm cryin' 'cause--'cause--" panted the child.

"Because what, darling?"

"Because you are crying, and--and--"

"And what?"

"'Cause I 'ain't got anything to cry for."

"Why, you precious darling!" said Maria. She hugged the child close,
and all at once a sense of peace and comfort came over her, even in
the face of approaching disaster. She sensed the love and pity which
holds the world, through this little human key-note of it which had
struck in her ears.

Chapter XVII

Harry Edgham's disease proved to be one of those concerning which no
physician can accurately calculate its duration or termination. It
had, as diseases often have, its periods of such utter quiescence
that it seemed as if it had entirely disappeared. It was not a year
after Harry had received his indeterminate death sentence before he
looked better than he had done for a long while. The color came back
to his cheeks, his expression regained its youthful joyfulness.
Everybody said that Harry Edgham was quite well again. He had
observed a certain diet and taken remedies; then, in the summer, he
took, for the first time for years, an entire vacation of three
weeks, and that had its effect for the better.

Maria began to be quite easy with regard to her father's health. It
seemed to her that, since he looked so well, he must be well. Her
last winter at the Lowe Academy was entirely free from that
worriment. Then, too, Wollaston Lee had graduated and begun his
college course, and she no longer had him constantly before her eyes,
bringing to memory that bewildering, almost maddening experience of
theirs that night in New York. She was almost happy, in an odd,
middle-aged sort of fashion, during her last term at the academy
before her graduation. She took great pride in her