thought if help was scarce you might--well, never mind."

And here the Doctor interposed. "It is not that, Ester," with the
troubled look deepening on his face. "I assure you we would be glad
of your help, but," and he broke off abruptly, and commenced a sudden
pacing up and down the room. Then stopped before her with these
mysterious words: "I don't know how to tell you, Ester."

Ester's look now was one of annoyance, and she spoke quickly.

"Why, Doctor, you need tell me nothing. I am not a child to have the
truth sugar-coated. If my help is not needed, that is sufficient."

"Your help is exactly what we need, Ester, but your health is not
sufficient for the work."

And now Ester laughed. "Why, Doctor, what an absurd idea In a week I
shall be as well as ever. If that is all you may surely count me as
one of your teachers."

The Doctor smiled faintly, and then asked: "Do you never feel any
desire to know what may be the cause of this strange lassitude which
is creeping over you, and the sudden flutterings of heart, accompanied
by pain and faintness, which take you unawares?"

Ester's face paled a little, but she asked, quietly enough: "How do
you know all this?"

"I am a physician, Ester. Do you think it is kindness to keep a friend
in ignorance of what very nearly concerns him, simply to spare his
feelings for a little?"

"Why, Dr. Van Anden, you do not think--you do not mean that--tell me
_exactly what_ you mean."

But the Doctor's answer was grave, anxious, absolute _silence_.

Perhaps the silence answered her--perhaps her own heart told the
secret to her, for a sudden gray palor overspread her face. For an
instant the room darkened and whirled around her, then she staggered
as if she would have fallen, then she reached forward and caught hold
of the little red rocker, and sank into it, and leaning both elbows on
the writing-table before her, buried her face in her hands. Afterward
Ester called to mind the strange whirl of thoughts which thrilled
her brain at that time. Life in all the various phases that she had
thought it would wear for her, all the endless plans that she had
made, all the things that she had meant to _do_ and _be_, came and
stared her in the face. Nowhere in all her plannings crossed by that
strange creature Death; someway she had never planned for that. Could
it be possible that he was to come for her so soon, before any of
these things were done? Was it possible that she must leave