eth was gone again, and Elsie stood staring at the pate--a
magnificent affair, she knew it was--one of Maillard's best, full of
truffles and all sorts of delicious things. She felt something in her
throat, which might have been hunger or it might have been weakness; she
chose to think it the latter.

"I feel so weak," she said, when Elizabeth returned on her round; "such
a sinking here," and she put her hand in the region where her heart
might be supposed to beat.

"You had better lie down," her sister said, absently.

That was not the advice Elsie wanted or expected, and she cried out,
spasmodically:

"How can I keep still! Oh, I wish I had some drops, or something to
take!"

She moaned so loudly that it disturbed Elizabeth, who became impatient.

"Drink your tea," she said, "and eat something; you cannot go without
food."

"Well, I'll try," said Elsie, resignedly. "I wish you'd sit down and
have a cup; perhaps I could eat then."

"Not now," replied Elizabeth.

The very sight of food was loathsome to her. She had hardly touched a
morsel for two days.

After a good deal more hesitation, Elsie attacked the pate, and the
jelly, and the pickles, and the custard-cake, and some crisp little
wafers, and, finally, made an excellent meal; all the while declaring
that she could not eat, that every mouthful choked her, that she
believed she was dying. To all these complaints Elizabeth paid no more
attention than she did to the meal that sensitive young creature was
making.

Elsie went back to her sofa, feeling somewhat comforted, and prepared to
take a brighter view of things. It appeared possible now for her to live
an hour or two longer--a little while before she had declared that her
death might be expected any moment.

"Do come and sit down, Bessie," she said, as Elizabeth entered, for
about the hundredth time. "I'll give you the sofa; you must be tired
out."

"No; I am not tired."

"But I am sure you have been for three hours march--march--march! Do sit
down."

Elizabeth only turned away in silence, but Elsie felt so much relieved
after her creature comforts, that she could not forbear attempting to
inspire her sister with a little of the hope which had begun to spring
up in her own narrow heart.

"Oh, Bessie," she cried, "I feel as if this would get over somehow, I do
indeed."

"But how? may I ask how?"

"Oh, I can't tell; but there'll be some way, there always is; nothing
ever does happen, you kn