Her sister followed her with eyes of ill-content, then returned to the kitchen.
Jane lay against pillows.

Red light from the fire played over her face, which was wasted beyond recognition.

She looked a handmaiden of Death.
The atmosphere of the room was warm and sickly.

A small green-shaded lamp stood by the looking-glass in front of the window; it cast a disk of light below, and on the ceiling concentric rings of light and shade, which flickered ceaselessly, and were at times all but obliterated in a gleam from the fireplace.

A kettle sang on the trivet.
The sick girl's hands lay on the counterpane; one of them moved as Emma came to the bedside, and rested when the warmer fingers clasped it.
There was eager inquiry in the sunken eyes; her hand tried to raise itself, but in vain.
'What did Alice say ?' she asked, in quick feeble tones.