Half an hour after her brother's visit, Mabel tapped at the door to

inquire how the patient was, and whether she could be of use in any

way. She still wore her evening dress, and the fire of excitement

had not gone out in her eyes and complexion.

"Don't sit up longer," said the doctor, with the authority of an old

friend. "It will not benefit your protege for you to have a

headache, pale cheeks, and heavy eyes to-morrow, while it will

render others, whose claims upon you are stronger, very miserable."

She thanked him laconically for his thoughtfulness, and bade him

"good-night," without a responsive gleam of playfulness. Her heart

was weighed down with sick horror. The almost certainty of which he

spoke with professional coolness, was to her, who had never within

her recollection stood beside a death-bed, a thing too frightful to

be anticipated without dread, however its terrors might be

alleviated by affection and wealth. As the finale of their Christmas

frolic--perhaps the consequence of wilful neglect in those who

should have known better than to abandon the wanderer to the ravages

of hunger, cold, and intoxication--the idea was ghastly beyond

description.

She was about to diverge from the main hall on the second floor into

the lateral passage leading to Mrs. Sutton's room in the wing, when

her name was called in a gentle, guarded key by her sister-in-law.




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