Joyce," she added, after a pause, "I trust there's no danger; I should not like her to die." Miss Carlyle spoke in a low, dread tone.

Was she fearing that, if her poor young sister-in-law did die, a weight would rest on her own conscience for all time--a heavy, ever-present weight, whispering that she might have rendered her short year of marriage more happy, had she chosen; and that she had not so chosen, but had deliberately steeled every crevice of her heart against her?
Very probably; she looked anxious and apprehensive in the morning's twilight.
"If there's any danger, Joyce--" "Why, do you think there's danger, ma'am ?" interrupted Joyce.

"Are other people not as ill as this ?" "It is to be hoped they are not," rejoined Miss Carlyle.

"And why is the express gone to Lynneborough for Dr.Martin ?" Up started Joyce, awe struck.

"An express for Dr.Martin! Oh, ma'am! Who sent it?
When did it go ?" "All I know is, that's its gone.