senseless stare, until one's blood almost curdled.

"We must get about it immediately," began Dr. Maverick. "She will be
quieter presently, and I shall remain all night. Darcy, you watch her:
do not let her injure herself, while we bring down the necessary
articles."

Just at this juncture Mrs. Lawrence's bell rang. The noise had startled
her from her first sound sleep. Dr. Maverick explained simply, and gave
her a composing draught.

"A fever! Is it any thing contagious? Yes, it is better to keep her down
there: my nerves are so weak, and I think I have a very sensitive,
susceptible nature. I might take any disease so easily,--do you not
think so, doctor?" and Mrs. Lawrence looked up from her frills and laces
and snowy pillow with the helpless air of a child.

"Much better. She may be delirious, too, and that would distress you.
Now be as quiet as possible, and try to go to sleep again. I shall
remain to keep you both in order," with a laugh.

"That is very kind," she answered, with a pretty wave of her delicate
hand. Her daughter might be dying below, but her nerves must be settled
and cared for. Still, to do her justice, even in her intense
selfishness, she never considered other people's ailments dangerous,
while she held that her own precious life was constantly in peril. She
talked of dying with the calmness of a saint, and admitted that there
was no further charm to life, but still she must have the choicest care.

Under Martha's supervision they soon dismembered the bedstead, and
brought down all necessary belongings. Jack had watched his charge,
strangely exercised by her curious, changeful moods. Once she had looked
meaningly at him.

"I _might_ marry you," she said, in soft, mocking tones, her scarlet
lips taking on a bitter, scornful smile; "but I should come to hate you
so that some night when you lay asleep I should rise and murder you! I
might endure you in London, where I could be in a continual round of
gayety; but at Frodsham Park, with an old man like you,--May and
December! May and December!" and she laughed shrilly.

She did not mean _him_, then! Honest Jack Darcy blushed to the roots of
his hair, to his very finger-ends. Some old man had wanted her: well,
she was braver and truer, then, than most people would admit.

The three came in, and transformed the parlor to a hospital-ward,
without the simplicity. Jack suddenly thought of his mother, and hurried
away. What an eventful walk it had