e had
felt it, and all the rest of it. In the midst of these remarks, Mrs.
Markleham cried: 'Where's Annie?'

No Annie was there; and when they called to her, no Annie replied. But
all pressing out of the room, in a crowd, to see what was the matter, we
found her lying on the hall floor. There was great alarm at first, until
it was found that she was in a swoon, and that the swoon was yielding
to the usual means of recovery; when the Doctor, who had lifted her
head upon his knee, put her curls aside with his hand, and said, looking
around:

'Poor Annie! She's so faithful and tender-hearted! It's the parting from
her old playfellow and friend--her favourite cousin--that has done this.
Ah! It's a pity! I am very sorry!'

When she opened her eyes, and saw where she was, and that we were all
standing about her, she arose with assistance: turning her head, as she
did so, to lay it on the Doctor's shoulder--or to hide it, I don't know
which. We went into the drawing-room, to leave her with the Doctor and
her mother; but she said, it seemed, that she was better than she had
been since morning, and that she would rather be brought among us; so
they brought her in, looking very white and weak, I thought, and sat her
on a sofa.

'Annie, my dear,' said her mother, doing something to her dress. 'See
here! You have lost a bow. Will anybody be so good as find a ribbon; a
cherry-coloured ribbon?'

It was the one she had worn at her bosom. We all looked for it; I myself
looked everywhere, I am certain--but nobody could find it.

'Do you recollect where you had it last, Annie?' said her mother.

I wondered how I could have thought she looked white, or anything but
burning red, when she answered that she had had it safe, a little while
ago, she thought, but it was not worth looking for.

Nevertheless, it was looked for again, and still not found. She
entreated that there might be no more searching; but it was still sought
for, in a desultory way, until she was quite well, and the company took
their departure.

We walked very slowly home, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes, and I--Agnes and I
admiring the moonlight, and Mr. Wickfield scarcely raising his eyes from
the ground. When we, at last, reached our own door, Agnes discovered
that she had left her little reticule behind. Delighted to be of any
service to her, I ran back to fetch it.

I went into the supper-room where it had been left, which was deserted
and dark. But a door of commun