I'm good for nothing, only I do hope I'm ready, and Ethie ain't; so spare her and take me in her place." This was one of Andy's prayers--generous, unselfish Andy--who would have died for Ethelyn, and who had been in such exquisite distress since the night when Eunice first found Ethelyn moaning in her room, with her letter to Richard lying unfinished before her.

No one had read that letter--the Markhams were too honorable for that--and it had been put away in the portfolio, while undivided attention was given to Ethelyn.
She had been unconscious nearly all the time, saying once when Mrs.
Markham asked, "Shall we send for Richard ?" "Send for Aunt Barbara; please send for Aunt Barbara." This was the third day of Ethelyn's danger, and on the sixth there came a change.

The shawl was pinned back from the window, admitting light enough for the watchers by the bedside to see if the sufferer still breathed.

Life was not extinct, and Mrs.Markham's lips moved with a prayer of thanksgiving when Mrs.Jones pointed to a tiny drop of moisture beneath the tangled hair.

Ethelyn would live, the doctor said, but down in the parlor on the sofa where Daisy had lain was a little lifeless form with a troubled look upon its face, showing that it had fought for its life.